LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



©flap. ©opgrin^ l^ij, 

bheli 5 ^^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




:i ^ -nger Brothers. PuDiishers. 

And of Ills fulness ^ve all have received and 
(iTace for grace.( S.Joliii,L16.| 



Golden Sands, 

'gum ^txus, 

LITTLE COUNSELS 

FOR THE 

SANCTIFICATION AND HAPPINESS OF 
DAILY LIF^. 

^Translatjeli from tjt jfxmtl), 
By miss ELLA McMAHON. 




COPYRIGHT %^ 




New York, Cincinnati, and Chicago: 
BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Printers io the Holy Apostolic See. 
1890. 



b 



^V 



The Library 

Oh CoKCVESS 



WASHINGTON 



Copy 



RIGHT, 1890, BV BeNZIGER BROTHERS. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Introduction, 7 

I. Litany of Resignation, > • 1 1 

II. The Aged, .... 13 

III. Receipt for Obtaining All that 

We wish from God, . , 16 

IV. Suffering shared with Jesus, . 20 
V. Habit, 21 

VI. To whom, O Lord, can I be 

Useful To-Day ? . . .25 

VII. Happiness of being Useful, . 28 

VIII. Every Hour, .... 28 

IX. To a Child of the Sacred Heart, 32 

X. Love for the Blessed Virgin, . 35 

XI. A Mother's Mission, ... 37 

XII. A Good Thought, ... 42 

XIII. The Thought of God, . . 43 

XIV. A Small Alms for Catholic 

Schools, .... 47 
XV. Seeing and Accepting the best 

Side of Things, • • • 53 

XVI. Return from the Ball, . . 58 

XVII. The Credo of a Reader, . , 60 

XVIII. The Devil's Tour, ... 63 



Contents, 



XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 



XXX. 
XXXL 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV, 

XLV. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 



A Christian Life, . • , 
Apostleship in the Family, , 
Faults of Those we Love, , 
Excelsior ! Excelsior ! . • 
God's Appeal to the Soul, • 
An Interesting Story, 
A Lesson of Philosophy, • 
In the Mire. — In Heaven, 
Sanctity. Simple and Easy 

Means of Attaining It, . 
A Small Alms for Catholic 

Schools, .... 

To Lay Down the Burden of 

Human Miseries, is this to 

Die? 

A Model, .... 
The Advantage of Having Ene 

mies, .... 
The Alms-box, 
Buying Happiness, . 
Christmas Presents, 
Being Kind, 
Sacrifices made for God, 
Fidelity, .... 
Christian Mothers, Courage 
A Christian Home, 
Go to Jesus, . 
God sees It. — God wills It, 
Pious Desires of a Christian 

Soul, .... 
The Influence of the Holy Eu 

charist, .... 
An Interior, .... 
A Lesson of Philosophy, , 
Forgotten Ones, 
A Lost Day, . . , , 



66 

71 
76 

77 
80 
80 

85 
90 

95 

ICQ 



104 
107 

log 

113 
117 
117 
122 

126 
126 
129 

131 

136 

141 

142 

145 

149 

151 

155 



Contents, 3' 

XLVIII. Father Lacordaire*s Definition of 

Gold, 158 

XLIX. Give the Heart its Portion each 

Day, 159 

L. Education, , « • . 164 

LI. Yes.— No, , ; . * 164 

LII. Duty, . • • , . 167 



** I love these little messengers of God ; 
one alone sometimes does more for me than 
a missionary." — Pius IX. to the author of 
Golden Sands. 



In the summer, in the South of France, 
little children and the infirm poor, inca- 
pable of hard labor, in order to earn a 
little bread, occupy themselves in col- 
lecting from the beds of half-dried rivers 
golden sands which are carried by the 
water in its course and glisten in the sun. 

What these poor and little ones do 
with the golden sajtds which God has scat- 
tered in these unknown rivers, let us at- 
tempt with these little counsels which God 
has scattered everywhere to sparkle, and 
glisten, and comfort for an instant, then 
to disappear, leaving to the soul the re- 
gret of not having gathered them. 



INTRODUCTION. 

The little Golden Sands^ borne by those 
tides called hours, again present them- 
selves before you and humbly beg you to 
gather them. 

For fifteen years they have been borne 
on the tide; for fifteen years delicate, pi- 
ous hands have sought them and found 
pleasure in their modest shining. 

Permit us to thank you, kind souls, who 
have not disdained the little Saitds float- 
ing by you, and who in gathering them 
have given them a value which they did 
not possess of themselves. 

They may be compared to the morn- 
ing dew-drop trembling on the rose: it is 
only a drop of water, but touched by the 
sun it sparkles like a diamond. 

They are the modest thoughts of a souf 
burning to do good; they have no merit 
but that of being simple, of being true, 
of being written in the presence of God; 
and the good dispositions of your hearts, 
the delicacy of your sentiments, the 

7 



8 Introduction, 

beauty of your souls, dear readers and 
lovers of Golden Sa7tds, give the humble 
pages the charm you find in them. 

Permit us to thank you, also, who are 
instant in asking for them. If you would 
have them preserve their freshness and 
do you good, continue to read them with 
love. 



Permit us to thank you, also, unknown 
friend, who sent us the following pleasing 
lines: 

From what sweat and hidden treasure, 
From what fair and fl(nvery lands, 

Drawest thou thy bounteous measure ? 
Little stream with Golden Sands. 

From the sky above thee bending, 

Did some angel hand below 
Turn thy course ? that, earthward wending, 

Thou mights t cure its sin and woe ? 

Didst thou in the birthplace lowly 

Of Our Lord thy source select ? 
Or where that Baptism holy 

Marked the first of the elect ? 

From the tabernacle's recesses 

Art thou come a living ray. 
Which, a miracle that blesses, 

Flows a streamlet by our way ? 



Introduction, 

Yes, lor God creates to please us 
All that sweet content may bring, 

And from that source, the Heart of Jesus, 
In our hearts thou sure must spring. 

Yes, I love thee, little river! 

Onward flow with blessings filled; 
They who drink shall thank the Giver 

When thy wave their thirst has stilled. 

Thou refreshest us; thy singing 
Cheers us in our sorrows keen; 

So from arid grief upspringing 

Bright and fragrant flowers are seen. 

Thou dost raise us, onward flowing, 
As the stream the blade of grass. 

And the swallows, southwards going, 
Dip their swift wings as they pass. 

There beyond thy wave's blue courses 
Shines the heaven we fain would see; 

Of that heaven thy song discourses. 
To that heaven we're led by thee. 

In the chalice of thy flower 
Drop by drop the dew distils: 

Thus thy word our hearts each hour 
With new life and fragrance fills. 

Well-loved book! thus o'er thy pages 
With a thankful heart I pore, 

Read the secret of the ages 
And the joys for us in store. 



10 Introduction, 

Prayer. 

My God, grant that they may say of 
our modest Httle book what was said of 
a collection of poems written by an aged 
religious: " To go through these pages 
is like saying the rosary, or like reading 
a book of prayer, so deeply impregnated 
are they with faith, hope, and charity, so 
pure and generous is the influence they 
exercise over the reader." 



^oltftn ^ttttJ>0. 



Let us sow good thoughts and we shall reap 
good actions. 



LITANY OF RESIGNATION. 

O MY God, again another trial! A 
hard trial coming after so many severe 
afflictions! But Thou sendest it, Lord; I 
accept it, and though I weep, I bless 
Thee. 

My God, this is a very heavy cross 
which I am now carrying; its effect upon 
my peace of mind, upon my reputation, 
upon the welfare of those I love may be 
terrible. But Thou sendest it. Lord; I 
accept it, and though I weep, I bless 
Thee. 

My God, I am filled with uneasiness, 
anxiety, and fear ; I dread the void 
which I shall find in my heart, the hu- 
miliation which will envelop me as a gar- 
ment of ignominy, the solitude with its 



12 Litany of Resignation, 



abandonment which will be mine, the in- 
action which I shall be obliged to endure; 
the feeling of my isolation and weakness 
fills me with terror. But Thou sendest 
it, Lord; I accept it, and though I weep, 
I bless Thee. 

My God, I humbly beg Thee, if it be 
possible, to spare me, or at least to light- 
en this trial which threatens me. But if 
Thy providence wills that I bear this 
cross, that I feel all its crushing weight, 
I accept it. Lord, and though I weep, I 
bless Thee. 

My God! if this trial is necessary for 
my* salvation, particularly if its painful, 
humiliating, and fear-inspiring character 
is to contribute to Thy glory, then, though 
I see not how this is to be, though I un- 
derstand not Thy designs, I not only ac- 
cept it, Lord, but I desire it, and I bless 
Thee. 

My God, i am convinced that it is 
Thou Who dost direct, permit, and rule 
all things; I am so convinced that there 
is infinite wisdom and infinite mercy 
in all that Thou permittest; that Thou 
hast a complete and perfect knowledge 
of all that is best for me, and at the 
same time a true love for my real good 



I 



Jl 



The Aged, 13 

that I dare not even ask Thee to alleviate 
or remove my trial. Blessed be Thou 
Who sendest it, Who from all eternity 
didst prepare it for me, and Who now 
appliest it to my needs! 

Yes, my God, if this trial, which rends 
my heart, is to procure me one degree 
more of happiness in heaven, is to bring 
me a little nearer to Thee, — if, above all, 
it permits me to praise Thee with more 
fervor and more love, I accept it, I 
guard it, I love it, and, Lord, I thank 
Thee for it. 

II. 

THE AGED. 

In our cold, material age all tnat can- 
not be made useful excites only our con- 
tempt, and if we could, we would cast it 
from us without pity. 

Ah! you feel the cruelty of this sad 
truth, aged ones, forgotten in an obscure 
corner of that house founded perhaps by 
you, which you have done so much to 
develop, and which for many years has 
been the scene of your untiring industry 
and loving devotion! 

^* Formerly," says Madam Schwetchine, 



J 4 The Aged, 

we spoke of venerable years, now we say 
' old people; ' the old people are put aside 
as much as possible, under pretext of 
their need of rest; we condemn them to 
isolation and solitude, that we may amuse 
ourselves without restraint. 

The little attentions they claim, the 
effort to listen to their repeated stories, 
the sympathy they seek for their contin- 
ual complaints, the watchful care their 
health requires, — all these things weary us, 
and we try to rid ourselves of these duties 
by confiding our loved ones to the care 
of strangers, or simply by placing with- 
in their reach all they are likely to need, 
and going on our way with no further 
thought of them, finding them in our 
hearts, though we may not have the 
courage to say it, or even to acknowl- 
edge it to ourselves, — a burden, 

A burden! that aged father and moth- 
er, who exhausted their strength, their 
health, and their intelligence to procure 
you the comforts which surround you. 

A burden! that aged father and moth- 
er, who have loved you and pardoned you 
so much, and who still love you with a 
devotion which they can no longer mani- 
fest, but which makes them feel keenly 
and cruelly all your ingratitude. 



The Aged. 1 5 

A burden! that aged father and moth- 
er, when God has solemnly promised to 
reward filial respect and affection with 
special blessings. 

Ah! when you no longer have them 
with you, when the place where you were 
wont to find them is vacant, when their 
sad faces are imaged in the depth of your 
soul bathed in tears, which conscience 
tells you you have caused to flow, who 
may describe the cruel remorse which 
will rend your heart! 

Ah! do you know what an aged father 
and mother are in the family, even when 
infirmities have destroyed their activity, 
and age has enfeebled their faculties? 

They are the tie which binds you; 
their presence alone banishes selfish 
thoughts and keeps you all in the home- 
stead; while they live, the family is sel- 
dom scattered. 

They are the centre about which all 
the family gathers; the house, while 
aged parents live, is always home to all 
the children; when they are gone, it is 
only a brother's or a sister's house. 

They are the living assurance of God's 
promise; He has pledged Himself to 
bless you as long as you respect and love 
them. 



1 6 Receipt for Obtainmg 



t 



Yes, love this infirm father, this vener- 
able grandparent so soon to go to his 
eternal home with God, and make for 
him with all the filial tenderness of your 
heart a very warm and comfortable place 
in your home; be most submissive, most 
cheerful and affectionate with such loved 
ones ; let them feel that they are mas- 
ters in your home, that it is your hap- 
piness to fulfil their wishes. ■! 

And if, after their death, your con- 
science reproach you with any neglect, 
endeavor sometimes to make up to old 
people for the attention denied them by 
children as forgetful as you were. It 
will be a work of mercy no doubt, but it 
will be also a work of reparatic 

III. 

RECEIPT FOR OBTAINING ALL THAT WE 
WISH FROM GOD. 

It was a gentle, sweet little soul who 
gave us this receipt, — one of those simple 
but upright, strong souls which the priest 
meets from time to time, and which re- 
veals to him something of the good odor 
of Jesus Christ. 

Let us speak to you a little of such 



All that we wish from God. 17 

souis. They usually possess but little 
exterior attraction; God does not wish 
them to attract the attention of men; 
all that is particularly noticeable about 
them is a calm, sweet expression, indi- 
cating the peace and order that reign 
within; they are industrious and devoted, 
but never over-eager; happy, without 
seeking to be, they only try to be good 
Christians, and it is their Christian life 
which envelops them in that atmosphere 
of quiet happiness. 

True, tears and an air of sadness are 
sometimes visible in their countenance, 
but never ill humor; there is something 
peaceful even in their sadness. 

Their path lies straight before them, 
and they faithfully follow it; on either 
side of this straight path they read pro- 
hibitions which they never violate. 

Along their way they encounter, as we 
do, obstacles, experience contradictions., 
are wounded and hurt even to tears 
sometimes, but they are gentle tears 
w^hich never disturb the peace of their 
souls, and they keep on their way with 
the same quiet confidence. A Hand is 
stretched forth to raise them up, to sus- 
tain them, and this Hand is God's; they 



1 8 Receipt for Obtaining 

see Him, they speak to Him, they hear 
Him, they confide themselves to Him, 
they accept everything from Him, await 
all things from Him, and love Him with 
their whole being, never deeming it pos- 
sible to do other than love and obey Him, 
any more than a dutiful child can help 
yielding love and obedience to its moth- 
er. They forget themselves sometimes, 
and then they sincerely ask pardon, but 
they never disobey. They cannot com- 
prehend that one could voluntarily do 
anything in the least displeasing to God. 

One day as we said to the soul who 
gave us this receipt that we had not 
been successful, she seemed at first very 
much astonished, then said: ^^ Perhaps 
you refused something to the good God; 
it would not be just to expect that He 
would hear you when you refuse to hear 
Him." It was true, we had refused 
something to the good God. 

Here, then, in all its simplicity, is a 
receipt for obtaining all that we want 
from God. 

We must first touch God's heart; you 
get all you desire if you touch His heart. 
Therefore, before laying your request 
before Him, go and do an act of kindness 



All thai zve wish from God, 19 

for one of those for whom God has a 
special love: for a child; for one who is 
sick, or in affliction, or set aside; for the 
aged; for one of His forsaken helpless 
ones; for one of those little ones whose 
innocence makes them specially dear to 
God. Say to yourself, and you can say 
it in all truth, they are God's children, 
they are in need, and God does not help 
them directly, but places it in our power 
to be His instrument in assisting them. 
It may be an alms, a toy, a caress, a 
sympathetic, affectionate, or cheering 
word, a merry word which cheers a sad 
heart; or the lending of an object which 
gives pleasure, one of those trifles insig- 
nificant in themselves, yet which would af- 
ford us pleasure if given us, — in a word, all 
that can give a moment's happiness and 
is done with the intention of pleasing 
God. 

God's eyes follow us when we visit His 
little ones. His poor or afflicted creatures; 
He sees why we do it, He is gratified 
with the happiness we afford these chil- 
dren so dear to Him, and He is touched, 
so to speak, as a mother is touched when 
she sees us caress, amuse, or comfort her 
little one. Let us profit by such a mo- 



20 Suffering shared ivith Jesus. 

ment. Charity has made our so ais 
hoHer, purer, and more pleasing to God; 
then let us profit by such a time to lay 
our requests before Him. ^' No, my 
God," we can say, ^^ Thou Avilt not refuse 
me; art Thou not kind, are not Thy 
words true ? Thou hast assured us that 
as we treat others Thou wilt treat us; we 
have been kind^ Thou wilt treat us with 
kindness. We have given to others, 
Thou wilt give to us. We have given 
pleasure, Thou wilt give us pleasure." 



IV. 



SUFFERING SHARED WITH JESUS. 

When sorrow, humiliation, and sadness 
weigh upon you, do not ask God to 
deliver you from them; it is a service 
that He cannot always render you, despite 
the pleading of His heart. — Lovingly ask 
Him to come and share 3^our suffering; 
that is the service of a friend which He will 
never refuse you; and your suffering, 
shared with Jesus, will indeed be light. 



Habit. 2 r 

HABIT. 

I AM g'oing to tell you a fairy tale. 

A mother, returning to her family after 
an absence of many days, came upon a" 
deserted palace. She entered it, glad to 
rest, but she should have kept steadily 
on; little ones awaited . her at home, 
nevertheless she lingered hour after 
hour, allured by the comforts which sur-^ 
rounded her. At the door through which 
she entered, a spider was spinning its 
web in the sun, — an airy, almost in- 
visible mesh. When she rose to go she 
smiled at the feeble obstacle and brushed 
it lightly aside, but lo ! another appeared 
behind it, and this concealed .another, 
and still another; in fact, as fast as she 
destroyed one, another appeared, and at 
last, exhausted with fatigue, she sank 
wearily before the unconquerable thresh^ 
old and gazed with sad eyes upon the 
airy though invincible obstacle lightly 
swinging in the breeze; — and the little 
voices in the distance crying Mother!' 
Mother! smote her ear and rent her heart. 
Alas! imprudent mother, why did youi 
pause when duty called you? 



2 2 Hahit, 

This fairy palace meets us at every step, 
inviting us to turn from the path of du- 
ty for a moment's rest. 

Ah! let us never trifle with duty, let us A; 
never abandon it even for a moment. ■' 

A moment lost, a little sensual gratifi- 
cation, a moment's indulgence in idle 
dreams, are all trifles indeed in them- 
selves, but they form the fine web which 
vanity and sensuality weave about our 
souls. It is a frail thread, almost invis- 
ible, but it is followed by another and 
still another, and suddenly we find our- 
selves manacled; our energy has disap- 
peared, our will has weakened, and we 
have been led insensibly into idle, in- 
dolent habits. 

Upon what frequently in many cases 
does the moral value of every life depend? 
Upon certain habits formed in early 
youth, unwillingly, perhaps, or even un- 
consciously. 

We yield to something in opposition 
to duty; circumstances lead us to repeat 
the act a number of times, and a habit is 
formed, a bed is dug for the stream of 
our activity, its course is perverted, and 



Habit, 2 J, 

how, except by a reaction every day more 
difficult, though always possible, how are 
we to turn it from the gulf to which it 
is hurrying us? 

The descent from the straight path of 
duty to the luring path of idle dalliance 
is very rapid. A prohibition guarding 
the way gradually impresses us as of 
counsel, not of precept; then the forbid- 
den act seems expedient, then necessary. 

At first we did it hesitatingly, and it 
was even followed by remorse; a second 
time it almost accomplishes itself; and 
then it seems as if we had always done it. 

The path of duty preceding the forbid- 
den act disappears; perhaps in a moment 
of generous reaction we would retrace 
our gteps, but we find it impossible, we 
have burned the bridge behind us, we 
have passed the stream never lo return. 

Such is the mysterious law of habit, 
which plays such an important role in 
every existence. 

O ye whose mission it is to direct youth^ 
understand that all is meetly sustained 
in life, and that the present contains in 
germ the virtues or the vices, the shame 



HL HahiL 

or the glory, of the future. Then giv€ 
faithful, careful attention to all the trifling 
details in the life of those confided to 
your care; their ways of thought, of 
speech, of action, of prayer. Never lose 
sight of them at study, at prayer, at play, 
or in the innumerable little actions of the 
day. Do not regard with indifference a 
task performed indolently, carelessly, or 
out of the proper time; a book left lying 
on the floor by a child too careless to 
stoop to pick it up; an object out of its 
place or thrown anywhere when not in 
use; the wearing of a soiled or torn 
garment to avoid the trouble of changing 
it; the omission, through carelessness, of 
a thank you, a good morning, a caress to 
parents; petulance when thwarted; even 
a moment of unbecoming, negligent de- 
portment; idle reading at a time allotted 
for a certain duty; an indifferent or wea- 
ried manner at the time of prayer. 

These are trifles; but each one of these 
trifles is a germ voluntarily sown in the 
soul, and will bear fruit if it is not prompt- 
ly eradicated, and in a few years the 
soul will be the victim of undisciplined, 
sensual inclinations. 

They are trifles; but each of these tri- 



To Whom can I be Useful To-day P 25 

fles weakens the strength of will necessary 
to sustain us in the performance of du- 
ty, and when an hour requiring devotion 
comes, the enfeebled will is carried hither 
and thither by every current. 



And let us also, whatever our age, be- 
ware of little negligences, of unpunctual 
habits, of carelessness in our bearing, 
in th^ arrangement of our room, in our 
work, in regard to the time of beginning 
or finishing our task. . . . No, my friends, 
let us never trifle with duty, let us never 
abandon it even for a moment. 



VL 



TO WHOM, O LORD, CAN I BE USEFUL 
TO-DAY ? 

Why should we not ask ourselves this 
question every morning as we kneel be- 
fore the crucifix, or before the tabernacle 
where Jesus dwells? 

Lord^ to whom can I he useful to-day ? 

Ask it, children, who live at home with 
your father and mother, your sisters, your 
servants. 

Cloistered religious, servants having 



26 To Whom can I he Useful To-day? 

the enviable charge of Httle ones, young 
girls in boarding-schools, young men in 
colleges, daily ask yourselves: To whom 
can I be useful to-day? 

Do not we whose hearts thrill at the 
words God, Eucharist, Charity, we who 
desire to go to heaven, — do v/e not feel 
that there is no reason for our existence, 
if our principal occupation is not doing 
good to a fellow creature? 

And in the evening, do we not feel our 
day is lost unless at least a few moments 
of it have been spent for the benefit of 
another? 

And if, in a selfish mood, a day has 
passed in which we have thought only of 
ourselves, of takmg everythmg to our- 
selves, of making every one yield to us, 
with what an unsatisfied, restless heart 
we have retired to rest, and what a void 
we have beheld about us! 

Let us not be satisfied with a vague 
desire of doing good; let us designate 
some little kindness in our powder and | 
compatible w^ith our position; let us even 
select some indi\adual, and after consider- 
ing his needs, his character, his relation 
with us, let us determine the most agree- 
able and delicate way of doing him this 
kindness. 



To Whom can I he Useful To-day? 27 

How lovingly the good God looks upon 
a heart studying the best means of serv- 
ing or giving pleasure to one of His 
children! 

When preparing to go into town, d.j 
you not make a note of the purchases 
and the visits you have to make? Do you 
not take pains with your toilet, and en- 
deavor by a gracious bearing to leave a 
good impression behind yea? And all 
this you should do. Is it not St. Francis 
de Sales who says he would have his de- 
vout people the most agreeable, the best 
dressed, provided they were the least 
pompous and the least affected? 

Now, each day, as it opens before you 
with its different hours, is the city through 
which you journey to execute your va- 
rious commissions and visits. You are 
brought forcibly into relations with a 
variety of people; you know their charac- 
ters, their opinions, their idiosyncrasies 
and whims; why not make a mental note 
of the attention such a person expects, 
of another's sensitive points, in order to 
avoid wounding him? 

When evening comes you may be a 



28 Happiness of being Useful, 

little fatigued, as one is after a laborious 
day, but how happy you will be at then 
thought of the good you have done and|| 
the pleasure you have given! Your day 
has gone, but it is not lost. 

I think that one-of the most essential 
duties, one in which we fail most because 
we do not understand its importance, is 
the duty of making those about us happy. 

VII. 

HAPPINESS OF BEING USEFUL. 

I SAW a flower blossom on its stem; 

A butterfly brushed it with its wnng, 

A bee gathered its sweet honey, 
. An insect marred its delicate freshness, 

A light breeze dispersed its tender 
petals. 

But the brave stem bore another flower, 
ignoring the butterfly, the insect, the 
breeze, mindful only of the bee which its 
honey had nourished. 

A'lII. 

EVERY HOUR. 

This is the form of prescription physi- 
cians usually order for invalids extremely 
debilitated, with no digestion and with 



Every Hoicr. 29 

little relish for food, whose strength 
seems gradually going, and whose heavy 
eyes and weary movements indicate that 
the spark of life burns very low. 

Take this every hour, the physician 
says, and how faithfully the invalid, long- 
ing to recover his wonted vigor and 
strength, obeys him! 

The remedy is on the table within 
reach of his hand, and it is never forgotten 
or delayed; he takes it at the first sound 
of the clock, ao great is his anxiety to be 
well. No doubt, it is most irksome to 
have to watch every hour, to have to 
make an effort and rise when one is so 
weak, but the poor invalid in his eager- 
ness to be cured does not consider it a 
trouble, but rather a pleasant diversion. 

And thou, my soul, my poor soul, so 
weak, so feeble, with no relish for prayer, 
with no energy to be faithful, with no 
strength for an action that requires a 
little generosity, saying in the depth of 
thy heart with profound sadness: " I 
desire to do my duty, but I cannot," has 
not the priest, that physician represent- 
ing the knowledge and power of Goc^ 
given thee also a prescription to be taken 
every hour? 



$o Every Hour. 

Every hour the sign of the cross, slowly^ 
and fervently made, to banish the evil 
one and envelop thee in a heavenly ar- 
mor; — nothing but this. 

Every hour a moment of recollection, 
and with joined hands, and eyes devout- 
ly cast down, these words : " My God, I 
bless Thee here present, I love Thee, and 
I confide myself to Thee;" — nothing but 
this. 

Every hour a respectful and confident 
glance at the ciucifix or an image of the 
Blessed Virgin before thee : — nothing 
but this. 



This moment of every hour given di- 
rectly to God hardly interrupts our work, 
and how sanctifying and how useful it 
makes it! 

In the midst of the weariness of duty, 
what a reviving cordial, what a refreshing 
draught, what a restful halt we shall find 
it! 

How efficaciously it will train us to 
that Christian and supernatural life which 
makes us find created things so many 
aids to mounting higher, just as the 
stones on the mountain w-hich seem to 



Every Hour, 3 1 

retard our progress help us to reach the 
top. 

Let us apply this hourly prescription 
to our intelligence, extend it a little, if 
you wish, and instead of every hour, let us 
write on our desk or work-table these 
words of an ancient writer: '' Nulla dies 
sine linea : " No day to pass without 
reading or writing a few lines. Not 
vague or idle reading, or a rapid perusal 
of a daily journal, but calm, attentive, 
and thoughtful reading, were it only a 
thought from Pascal, Joubert, Madam 
Schwetchine, or those excellent collec- 
tions called ''Words of the Saints." I can 
hardly conceive of a work-table without 
one of those volumes of strengthening, ele- 
vating thoughts always lying open and 
offering us, in moments of voluntary or 
involuntary rest, guidance, light, and re- 
freshment. 

Let us beware of squandering or not 
appreciating anything so valuable as a 
taste for intellectual work, — a taste which 
produces much quiet but very real hap- 
piness and peace, but which can be main- 
tained only by daily assiduous fidelity. 



32 To a Chill of the Sacred H. a- 1. 

Let idleness, indolence, or we:r:u.v,^3 
interrupt for a week the habit of reading 
or writing a few lines daily, and you will 
see how difficult you will find it to resume 
the habit, which nevertheless afforded 
you much pleasant recreation and added 
much to your life. 

AVhen once we have broken the habit 
of daily study at regular hours, nothing 
is more difficult than to resume it; in 
vain we make resolute efforts to fall back 
into our former life; our strongest res- 
olutions fail at the end of a few days; it 
requires heroic efforts to begin each day 
with fresh ardor, and heroism is not ai 
every-day affair. 

Then heed, I pray you, this voice of 
God, of reason, and of experience, and 
be faithful to the prescription for every 
day and every hour which we have just 
given you. We do not refuse our body 
the food and rest it requires; let us do as 
much for our intellects and our souls. 

IX. 

TO A CHILD OF THE SACRED HEART. 

Young girls, do you remember those 
pleasing lines, ''My Sixteen Years," 



II 



To a Child of the Sacred Heart. 33 

which were published in a former series 
of Golden Sands, and which moved many 
to tears, particularly when sung before 
an image of Mary? 

The refrain of each verse is : 

^' Leave, O leave me my sixteen years, 
Queen of the Sacred Heart ! " 

And the last, the most touching of all, 
concludes thus : 

**This very night, sweet Mother of God! O, bid 

my soul depart, 
And clasp thy child, in her sixteen years, forever 

in thy'heart ! " 

One day a young novice heard them 
sung before a statue of the Blessed Vir- 
gin, and on returning to her cell, her 
heart full of the deep emotion they 
awaken, she wrote the following response, 
which was published in Les Annates de 
Notre Dame du Sacre Coeur. 

Unknown, unseen child ! I love you; your sweet 
voice thrills my soul. 
Would vour sixteen years were mine, that my 
sister I might name you! 
Would I were at your age, when all bright things 
are your dole! 
You are smiling, so you say, at the happy days 
that claim you. 



34 To a Child of the Saa'ed Heart, 

You are smiling ; yet you add, you are fearing for 
your heart. 
Child, rejoice ! Fear is our armor, that cannot 
know defeat. 
Would 1 at sixteen years had known that fear's 
keen smart, 
Nestled closely like a bird in my mother's ten- 
dance sweet. 

But I craved all storms to dare, faced the clouds 
with eye serene, 
In the vain would put my trust. Would I your 
fear had felt, 
Like you had sought the prayers of the Sacied 
Heart's great Queen, 
Like you in lowly meekness at the feet of Jesus 
knelt! 

I have wept since then full sore, and if to-day I 
sing. 
The notes rise sad and slow, a plaintive song of 
gnef. 
For I did not guard my soul in its glorious opening 
spring, 
And my blossoming sixteen years were withered, 
flower and leaf. 

Yet there dawned one day for me, full of hope, a 
day that made me 
Christ's bride forevermore, from His love no 
more to part. 
Dear unknown, unseen maiden! to sing that glad 
day aid me! 
Bid your sixteen years proclaim the love of the 
Sacred Heart! 

Translated by Miss S, L. Emery » 



Love for the Blessed Virgin, 35 

X. 

' LOVE FOR THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 

A PRIEST met a friend of his youth, who 
like him had grown gray in the service 
of the altar. The life of both had been 
one of prayer, of toil, and of suffering, 
and they were cheerfully looking forward 
to a time of rest — the peaceful beatific 
rest of paradise. 

RecaUing their college days and the 
joyous enthusiasm of their young hearts 
prepared for any sacrifice, one said to 
the other with an air of deep sadness: 
*^ O my friend, they do not love the 
Blessed Virgin as we did! They hardly 
dare to speak of her love, of her tender- 
ness, of her mercy, of her miracles, as 
our professors spoke to us, and as we 
spoke amohg ourselves. We are afraid 
of giving full expression to that tender 
love and enthusiasm for Mary which 
filled our young hearts and kept us pure 
and true. 

*' Do you remember the touching, con- 
fident prayers to Mary which we were so 
delighted to find in books of devotion, or 
to write ourselves in her honor ? 

" How delighted we were to find a 



36 Love for the BLssed' Urging 

book that spoke of Mary's goodness, of 
her power to preserve the innocence of 
souls and to bring back to God poor 
sinners who had abandoned everything, 
everything except a Hail Mary I 

'^ With what touching and impHcit con- 
fidence we beHeved all the miracles told 
us! 

^' Do you remember our happiness the 
day we discovered in the life of M. Olier 
those filial practices of piety which 
revealed to us an unknown side in the 
heart of this great servant of Mary? 
And how we longed, after his example, 
to live in absolute dependence on Mary, 
to use nothing without asking her con- 
sent, never to pass before her statue 
without saluting her; how we promised 
to speak of her later in all our instruc- 
tions, to adopt for our motto: ^ All to 
Mary for Jesus; all to Jesus for Mary! ' 

" Our professors smiled sometimes at 
the excess of our enthusiasm, but as they 
found us docile, obedient, and faithful, 
they did not reprove us too severely. 

'^ And during vacation, how we loved 
to speak of all that we felt so deeply! 

" At the present day, even in Christian 
families, we may hardly speak of Mary 



A Mother s Misnon. ^il 

as we formerly did; under pretext of ex- 
aggeration, or pious excess, of the need 
of serious devotion, they refuse the 
touching pages of St. Bernard, St. 
Ephrem, St. Alphonsus Liguori, contain- 
ing the miracles which we received with 
such candid faith, and which lack, w^e 
are now told, ' the proofs required by 
reason/ 

" And yet, could anything be more 
solid and efficacious than our affectionate 
devotion, w^hich led us to avoid sin to 
please Mary, to communicate frequently 
to be more loved by Mary, to do miany 
good works to imitate Mary? 

^^ O my friend," he added after a 
moment's silence, ^' now that we are near- 
mg heaven, let us return to our youthful 
love for Mary, and no matter what is 
said of us, make her loved as the saints 
loved her, as we were taught to love her, 
that is, simply, tenderly, and joyfully." 

XL 

A mother's mission. 

We need from time lo time to hear 
a few of those concise, forcible words 
which give a new vigor to our souls and 



38 A Mother s Missio?i, 

rouse them from their torpor. Mothers 
hear these, which we transmit to you in 
all their simplicity; they contain strong 
thoughts; read them, meditate upon 
them; let them penetrate to the depth 
of your souls. 

Do not forget that they bear the title, 
A Mothe7''s Mission, — The mission of a 
reasonable creature is the special work 
which God has confided to him, especial- 
ly to him, and upon the accomplishment 
of which his salvation depends. We 
may accomplish the greatest, the most 
brilliant, the most useful works, but if 
such works enter not into our mission, we 
are losing our time, our labor, heaven — 
everything. 



A mother's mission is the sanctification 
of her children; God has given them to 
her only that she may sanctify them, — 
for no other end. 

The desire to make them men cele- 
brated for their learning, ability, talent; 
men fitted to fill any social position; men 
who are sought after, admired, and ex- 
tolled, must always be subordinate to this 
object* and can onl}^ be a secondary end, 



A Mother's Mission. 39 

for all these advantages pass away with 
death, and in themselves are nothing 
before God; that which does not pass 
away and which is valuable before God 
is sanctity. 

Now all that does not tend directly or 
indirectly to make a child a saint is at 
least null; all that hinders, retards, or 
diminishes his sanctification is more or 
less culpable. And in this respect, O 
mothers, how ■ many of you at God's 
judgment-seat will be confronted by a 
long life of devotion to children loved 
not wisely but too well — a long life of 
toil and care, but alas! an empty, perhaps 
a culpable life! 

Keep therefore these practical rules. 

There are three things which make a 
great soul, that is, a soul which may fall 
but will always rise again; these things 
are: 

I St. A horro?' of evil. — Man's origin is 
from above, and though he has fallen, he 
still retains the memory of paradise; he 
feels an instinctive repugnance for all 
that is evil, just as he feels an instinc- 
tive physical aversion for all deformity. 
This horror of evil is the stamp, so to 
speak, of our origm, but it is rapidly 



40 A Mother s Afissim. 

weakened by the habit of witnessing, and, 
above all, by the commission, of evil. 
Christian mothers, it is for you to sus- 
tain, to increase, to develop, and to 
strengthen this feeling of repulsion for 
all that is base and impure. 

Bear in mind the noble example of 
Blanche of Castile saying to her son: 
'* My son, I love you dearly, but I would 
rather see you borne to your grave than 
guilty of a mortal sin." Perhaps you re- 
peat these words, but do your voice, your 
countenance, your manner, testify that 
they come from your heart ? Do your 
actions, your life, bear them out and pro- 
duce a deep, ineffaceable conviction in 
the soul of your child ? 

^lie soul of a child is not onl}^ a blank 
'p^%t upon which we must write, but a 
metal surface, upon which lessons must be. 
engraven. 

2d. Conte7?ipt fo7' all that passes away.-^ 
He who does not feel himself superior to 
the things of this world is a being who 
has fallen from his estate and is un- 
worthy of his destiny. He sacrifices 
heaven to glittering clay, the truth to ap- 
pearances, reality to fancy. 

Tell your sons, therefore, tell them at 



A Mother s Mission. 41 

an early age, that honor and virtue are 
worth more than all this world can give; 
that nothing, nothing takes the place of 
duty; that nothing can compensate for 
the loss of self-respect, the echo of God's 
respect for us. 

If this is not deeply imprinted upon 
them, they will love what charms and 
flatters them, they will sacrifice their hon- 
or, their conscience, their souls, to a tem- 
porary dignity or passing honor, they will 
be lured by every bait that is offered for 
their destruction. 

3d. The feeling of God's presence^ the 
need of God^ the thirst, why not say the 
passion, for God. — Not for that imper- 
sonal, inaccessible God that all reasoning 
minds acknowledge, but for God made 
man, for the God of the manger and of 
Calvary, the Cxod of the Eucharist, Jesus 
Christ. 

Mothers, you do not sufficiently impress 
upon your children, you do not sufficient- 
ly manifest by your own life, that God 
sees all, that God knows all, that God can 
do all things, and that all that God does 
is well done. 

You do not make it sufficiently mani- 
fest that all that you command them God 



42 A Good Thought. 

commands, that all that you forbid them 
God forbids. Why, when after a fault 
you oblige them to ask your pardon, do 
you not insist that they also ask forgive- 
ness of God ? Why, when you teach them 
to thank you, do you not require that 
they give thanks to God also ? 

You do not take your children suffi- 
ciently before the Blessed Sacrament; you 
do not manifest sufficiently by your own 
respectful, fervent bearing that Jesus is 
really present on the altar. 

O mothers ! get possession of the 
pure and tender hearts of your children; 
win them by your wise counsels, your 
tender devotion, and then lead them to 
God. 

These are the three things that make a 
great soul. 

This page is addressed to all who fill 
a mother's place ; to you, professors and 
teachers, for you also are charged with 
the care of souls. 

XII. 

A GOOD THOUGHT. 

A GOOD thought suffices sometimes to 
elevate the heart and to implant in it the 



The Thought of God, 43 

germs of a good action and a generous 
resolution. 

XIII. 

THE THOUGHT OF GOD. 

When will it be given us to understand, 
above all to feel, the effects of the thought 
of God, — of God always near us, of God 
always about us, of God always within 
us? 

This thought is to the soul what air is 
to the lungs: it expands, it consoles, it 
rejoices it, and enables it to live. This 
thought acts upon creatures with whom 
the soul is brought in contact as light 
acts upon creatures brought in relation 
with our senses: it illumines, it colors 
them, it represents them — and this is its 
special characteristic — in a soft attractive 
light, which invests them with a certain 
charm and beauty; and if they are evilly 
disposed, it remains a protecting rampart 
between us and them. He who lives 
with the thought of God may be sad, but 
he never fears; he may have distrustful 
but never malicious thoughts. 

One wearies of praying, of laboring, of 
resting, of rejoicing, but never of the 



44 The Thought of God. 

thought of God. It is simply the life of 
an innocent soul, or of a soul restored 
to innocence, a soul in spiritual health. 

It is not a vague thought, intangible as 
air; it is a living, animated presence, and 
possesses form, which never, however, in- 
conveniences or wearies, which never dis- 
places any one, but fashions itself careful- 
ly to the needs of the soul, always 
remaining sweet, attractive, and loving. 
It becomes to the soul a friend, a mother, 

a protector, a counsellor, a defender 

It is to souls what the manna of the Old 
Testament was to the children of Israel: 
all that each one desires. 

One thing that turns many from the 
thought of God is that it always seems 
to require a sacrifice, and as this word 
inspires fear, many draw back before 
they have heard what God gives in com- 
pensation. 

O dear souls, innocent souls, with whom 
we would rejoice to live, would that we 
were surrounded only by that supernat- 
ural atmosphere created by the thought 
of Ciod! Let us be generous, dear souls, 
and joyously embrace all the sacrifices 
that God may ask of us! God, after all, 
will only ask of you w^hat you w^ould ask 



The Thought of God, 45 

of a friend in whose perfection you were 
interested. He will ask nothing but what 
your mother would ask were the needs 
of your soul as visible to her eyes as 
those of your body. He will ask: 

The sacrifice of your antipathies and 
jealousies, which make you less kind, less 
merciful, less devoted, and less happy. 

The sacrifice of your repugnances, 
which make you less industrious in work 
and less useful to those about you. 

The sacrifice of your own ideas, of 
your inclinations, of your caprices, which 
make you selfish, vain, obstinate, and 
grieve those you love. 

The sacrifice of every element in your 
affections calculated to mar them, to 
make you less pure, less worthy, less 
noble, less beautiful. 

Tell me, is not this what you would 
require of me', if you wished me for your 
friend? 

Hear, moreover, what God gives in 
compensation for what the habitual 
thought of Him requires. It is a run- 
ning account of the entire reward of 
eternity. For each sacrifice there is 
a correspondmg degree of happiness. 

Happiness of the peaceful conscience ^ 



46 The Thought of God, 

which experiences a comfort akin to that 
of the body when relieved of a sharp 
thorn. 

The happiness of the mind rejoicing in 
the splendor of the good, the true, the 
beautiful, — seeing clearer, farther, and 
revelling, so to speak, in the beauties of 
truth. 

The happiness of the hearty which be- 
comes more loving and more beloved not 
only by God, Who dwells in it, but by all 
creatures. 

Sacrifice imparts to the heart a power 
of affection hitherto unknown to it. 

Happiness of the imagination picturing 
to itself an ideal of all that is good and 
true and kind, — an ideal which envelops 
it in an atmosphere of grace, happiness, 
devotion, and protection. 

Is not God all this ? The happiness 
of the whole soul which goes on its way 
in peace without fear or anxiety; which 
knows that it has a kind Witness of all 
its efforts, a loving Father ever ready to 
receive, to pardon, and to love it; which 
appreciates the necessity of suffering and 
the price of submission; which knows 
finally that sufferings pass away, and that 
each trial means an additional degree of 
glory in heaven. 



A Small Alms /or Catholic Schools. 47 

The thought of God brings all this. 
God grant me to preserve it! 

Keep thyself innocent, O my soul, 
that, endowed with greater delicacy, thou 
mayest feel thyself at all times pene- 
trated with the presence of God. 

XIV. 

A SMALL ALMS FOR CATHOLIC SCHOOLS. 

One day St. Vincent de Paul looked 
about him and found he had nothing 
more to give; and little children, in the 
home where he had gathered them, were 
crying for bread. Raising his tearful 
eyes and clasped hands to an image of 
Jesus crucified, he cried, " My God, wilt 
Thou permit them to perish? " 

And assembling the noble souls to 
whom he had given the sweet name of 
'' Ladies of Charity," — profoundly Chris- 
tian women who had given generously, 
many of them robbing themselves of 
everything, — he addressed them as fol- 
lows: '^ Ladies, compassion and charity 
led you to adopt these little creatures as 
your children; you have been their 
mothers in the order of grace since their 



48 A S?nall Alms for Catholic Schools. 

natural mothers forsook them. — Will you 
in your turn abandon them now? Cease 
for a moment to be their mothers, that 
you may be their judges; their life and 
their death are in your hands. Your 
voices, your suffrages must decide their 
fate; it is time to pronounce their sen- 
tence and proclaim whether your com- 
passion ceases. They will live if you 
continue your charity to them; if you 
abandon them, they must die, they must 
perish," and at these w^ords the holy 
priest wept. 

It seemed as if a divine breath passed 
into the souls of these strong and gen- 
erous Christians; they could not speak at 
first for tears, but their eyes met in a 
generous resolution of devotion and sac- 
rifice, and the work for the salvation of 
children was established. 

St. Vincent de Paul is no longer here 
with his tears, his eloquence, his irresist- 
ible holiness, but there are the same 
hungry little ones crying for bread. 

More than this; there are souls of 
children perishing, souls wrested from 
God and prepared to blaspheme Him for 
all eternity. 

Had the little ones of St. Vincent de 






A Small Alms for Catholic Schools. 49 

Paul died of hunger, they would now be 
in heaven; but the little ones for whom 
we plead are suffering a spiritual hunger 
which destroys the soul with the body; 
God's word, the food of their souls, is 
denied them; they are taught to deny, to 
blaspheme Him. 

Courage, then. Christian mothers, pious 
workwomen, and ye to whom God has 
given a larger share of this world's 
goods. Catholic men in whose hearts, 
unstifled by worldly cares, the sacred 
words, Jesus, the Eucharist, the Church, 
awaken a reverent and loving response, — 
the souls of little children are in your 
hands; you must decide their fate; it rests 
with you to determine whether they 
shall be sent to godless schools, where 
they forget their God and yours, and 
prepare for themselves ecv^rnal misery, or 
whether they continue to be brought up 
Christians — continue to learn to love 
God, to love the Eucharist, to love His 
holy Mother. 



Money, much money no doubt, is 
needed to found and maintain schools, 
and this money we ask of all Catholics, 



50 A Small Alms for Catholic Schools, 

of all who love God and who love the 
souls for whom He died. 

Money can always be found when the 
heart is in the search, and the searchers 
are guided by the light of faith. 

And this money we ask of all, of the 
poor as well as of the rich, for it will con- 
tribute to the salvation of all. 

To your salvation, daily laborers, to 
whom God in reward for your mite to 
the schools will give a fruitful industry 
and a joyful heart, which will double 
your strength; — to your salvation, rich 
ones of this world, for alms to an object 
so fruitful in glory to God, given without 
earthly recompense, and confounded 
with the offering of the poor, is a charity 
which opens heaven, which yields eternal 
interest in that divine treasury which 
nothing can ever diminish. 

To obtain this money no great effort 
is required: one costume less or one a 
little less expensive during the summer, 
— one entertainment less during the sea- 
son, — one journey made second class or 
in the ordinary, instead of the parlor car, 
— the generous sacrifice of an idle pur- 
chase, — a simple and less expensive des- 
sert once a week. A pleasant entertain- 



A Small Alms for Catholic Schools. 5 r 

ment in the circle of your friends would 
always realize something, likewise oblig- 
ing yourselves, you who are in easy cir- 
cumstances, to put in your charity box 
each evening, for a certain time, a small 
sum, a few pennies which would have 
been squandered in frivolities; and you 
who are obliged to count closely your 
daily earnings, give a penny a week, or 
less than that if you will, but something 
which will testify your gratitude to God, 
Who gives you this work, and enables you 
to thus begin that spiritual investment 
for yourselves and your families which 
yields eternal interest. , 



It is incredible how much can be re- 
alized by little privations of this kind, 
scarcely felt by ourselves or by those 
about us. If you refuse your co-operation 
in this work, do you not argue yourself 
ungenerous, cowardly, sensual, and self- 
ish ? And is it not evident that, spite of 
everything, vou have no real love for 
God ? 

Go, you who will suffer no incon- 
venience, make no sacrifice for (jod's 
work, go and ask Him a favor; can you 



52 A Small Alms for Catholic Schools, 

expect Him to hear you when you turn a' 
deaf ear to the appeal made in His name ? 
Can you expect Him to answer your 
petition? No, He will be silent, or if He 
does speak, you will hear in the depth of 
your heart: ''I will treat thy needs as 
thou didst treat the needs of My children; 
thou didst refuse them thy assistance, 
thou didst turn away from them, I turn 
away from thee," and when God turns 
from us ruin is nigh. 

Ah! when you see an opulent house 
gradually falling into want, look into its 
past, look with the eyes of faith, and you 
will find that alms-giving was not one of 
the duties of that house. 

And yo'i who with callous indifference 
have continued to live in luxury while 
the Catholic schools, in consequence of 
your selfishness, had to be closed, will 
you feel no pang of remorse or sha^e on 
meeting a careless, laughing group of 
children issuing from one of those god- 
less schools whither your parsimony has 
driven them? Will you not hear above 
their merry laughter their souls crying: 
'^ You are leaving us to die of hunger " ? 



The Best Side of Things, 5 S 

XV. 

SEEING AND ACCEPTING THE BEST SIDE 
OF THINGS. 

I. 

Every one presents a good and a bad 
side, and there are people whose mission 
seems to be to seek with exasperating; 
fidelity the w^orst side of men and things. 

A book is published; instead of profit- 
ing by the good and useful pages which 
it contains, A. looks for inaccuracies, com- 
mon-place thoughts, infelicitous expres- 
sions, and errors which may have escaped 
author and editor, and he rejoices to 
glean a harvest of faults. 

Show him a picture, he is sure to find 
it out of drawing, the light badly man- 
aged, the drapery stiff, etc. Go with him 
to a social reunion, he will entertain you 
on his return with how he was bored by 
the stupidity of one, the pedantry of 
another, the affectations of another, and 
by the faults of the company generally, 
which seem to have occupied his mind to 
the exclusion of everything pleasant in 
the evening, hence nothing pleased him: 
the house was furnished in bad taste, the 



54 Seeing and Accepting 



\ 



conversation was dull, certain voices 
grated on his nerves, etc. He is dissat- 
isfied with everything, and with the world 
generally, which, alas! pays him in kind. 

II. 

B. accustoms himself to see the best 
side of persons and things, hence there 
is an air of geniality and good humor 
about him which seems contagious, and 
he is greeted with pleasant words and 
smiles wherever he goes. 

If some one blunders in a company, he 
never sees it; if the conversation is dull 
about him, he manages to amuse himself; 
if he meets with an accident, he repairs 
it as well as he can without lamenting 
over it, or retailing it to every one; if he 
is left alone, he enjoys solitude, the 
charms of which he has discovered. He 
•enjoys his reading, thoroughly relishing 
in the book the qualities which please 
him, and rapidly passing over those which 
are not to his taste. 

Every one loves him, for he has a happy 
knack of discovering every one's best 
qualities, and making them appreciated. 
■ — Which of these two people is the 
happier? 



hie Best Side of Things, 55 

III. 

Wc cannot change the weather, we say; 
so w^- accept it as it is. Why not apply 
this maxim to men and things? Let us 
not rebel against events, and learn to 
yield to the inevitable. 

Instead of struggling fruitlessly against 
an obstacle, turn aside and pass on. 

If the stream is calm it is because it 
peacefully follows its course, but when it 
attempts to flow over a rock, see how it 
scolds and foams, and breaks its banks. 
If we cannot remove the obstacle, let us- 
learn to wait until it disappears. Im- 
patience exhausts our strength to no pur- 
pose and never remedies anything. 

The nature of things does not change, 
it is for us to change our will. Instead of 
lamenting over weather which interferes 
with our plans, let us cheerfully do 
something else. 

Persons who understand how to be 
happy are like good workmen who always 
have a reserve of tools to fall back on.- 
Knowing how much occupation contrib- 
utes to happiness, they are never with- 
out something to do. 



56 Seeing and Accepting 

IV. 

We would have all about us yield to 
our views; but it remains to be seen 
whether it is not for us to yield to theirs. 

We would be the figure about which 
our little world centres, but with what 
reason? 

If eight persons about me hold an 
opinion opposed to mine, who should 
yield? Self-love tells me they should 
yield to my superior wisdom. Common 
sense tells me, when there is no com- 
promise of conscience, I should yield to 
the greater number, as a principle, an 
opinion, in which eight persons agree is 
more likely to be correct than the opin- 
ion of one individual. 

Three-fourths of our troubles come 
from an exaggerated idea of our own 
merits, and from our efforts to exalt our 
position in the world at the expense of 
others. 

Let us take people as they are; fre- 
quently what we call faults in those 
about us are simply the qualities in 
which we are lacking; let us beware of 
exacting too much of others. Rather let 
us learn to use them according to their 
ability and their aptitude, and we shall 



ihe Best Side of Things. 57 

satisfy ourselves and content them. 
'* We do not use a broom to write, but to 
sweep," says an old proverb; require of 
those about you only what they are ca- 
pable of doing, and do not ask anything 
more. 

Do you remember that pretty couplet 
in the " Miller without Care " ? 

** Whatever way the wind blew, 
He set his vane and slept content." 

Let this be our spirit in everything. 

'' Those who visit me," said a sage, 
^' do me an honor; those who never visit 
me give me pleasure, — so I am satisfied 
with everybody." 



Do you know the principal cause of 
that restless, discontented feeling which 
finally becomes a permanent condition? 
It springs from a habit of repining at our 
position, which is not what we would 
have it, at our work, which is not what 
we would choose, and at all that we lack. 

Let us gently accustom our will to 
love our position, our work, and willing- 
ly bear anything that it lacks. 

How much misery we should spare 



58 Return from the Ball. 

ourselves if we were to eliminate from 
our lot the trials we anticipate or imagine 
imminent, if we would turn resolutely 
from the thought of our privations to 
count our blessings, — if we would expect 
from persons and things only what they 
are capable of yielding! 

The greater part of our trials comes 
upon us so swiftly because we meet them 
half way. 

XVI. 

RETURN FROM THE BALL. 

A Simple Fact, 

A MOTHER was urged by her two 
daughters to take them to one of those 
promiscuous gatherings, a ball. She felt 
she ought to refuse, particularly as she 
was indisposed, and could not accompany 
them. 

The young girls insisted, however, 
with tears and entreaties, and the mother 
yielded. Oh, that she had glanced at 
her crucifix before answering! Oh, that 
she had been more truly Christian! The 
children were permitted to go, however, 
and were confided to the care of a friend^ 
who was taking her own daughters. 



Return f 7' om the Bali. 59 

* Go to bed, dear mother," they said as 
hey embraced her on leaving, " we will be 
^ood girls. Leave the door unfastened, 
hat we may not have to disturb you 
vhen we return." 

The mother meanwhile went to bed^ 
)ut could not sleep; mothers rarely can 
;leep when the children are not under 
he parental roof, and this mother's mind 
vas full of her absent ones. 

Did no pang of remorse mingle with 
he affectionate anxiety which drove sleep 
rom her pillow ? Did she think of rec- 
)mmending to God the souls which she 
lad so weakly abandoned? or of asking 
)ardon for her weakness? 

She remembered suddenly that she had 
astened the door as usual, and rose to 
)pen it, fearing she might fall asleep be- 
ore they returned. 

Alas! the hall-way was dark, and with- 
n a few feet of the door she stumbled 
md fell, and striking her temple against 
he wall, was killed instantly. 

The ball continued, and no one laughed 
nore merrily and chatted more gayly 
han the unfortunate, foolish young girls. 

On their return at four in the morning, 
hey found the door closed; after ringing 



66 The Credo of a Reader, 

and knocking in vain, a workman was 
sent for to force the lock; even then the 
door did not open easily; there seemed to 
be some weight against it. It was only 
^"by the united efforts of the unfortunate 
girls that it was made to yield, and they 
entered to behold by the light of the work- 
man's lantern the blood-stained and life- 
less body of their mother. 

A large number of friends followed the 
remains to the grave: /^<?r children! they 
repeated, as they witnessed the despair 
and grief of the young girls. Poor moth- 
er! said the angels, as they beheld her 
trembling before the tribunal of God. 

XVII. 

THE CREDO OF A READER. 

We found in a charming book, " A New 
Journey about my Room," the following 
page, which wx think well to reproduce 
>iere and to recommend to all young girls, 
10 mothers, and to all readers. 

'^ One or two dangerous books found 
their way to my work-table; the result was 
a certain trouble which alarmed me; so I 
thought it expedient to convoke a coun- 
cil and ask of it a formula or symbol de- 



The Credo of a Reader, 6i 

fining clearly and concisely what my 
views on the subject of reading generally, 
and particularly of novels, should be. 

^* And there gathered about me Mod- 
esty, Joy, Imagination, Labor, Reason, 
Sacred Scripture, Tradition sacred and 
even profane. 

" The question was discussed with some 
warmth; Imagination particularly was op- 
posed to any very positive decision; nev- 
ertheless, they unanimously agreed upon 
the following symbol: 

*' ^ I believe that reading moulds the soul 
and forms the character. Tell me whom 
you go with, and I will tell you what you 
are. 

" ^ I believe that the mental tempera- 
ment is formed like the constitution of the 
body, by the food you give it. 

'^ ' I believe it is impossible for any na- 
ture to resist for any length of time the 
influence of the same kind of reading. 
Frequent intercourse always leaves its ef- 
fects. 

'^ ' I believe that bad reading is as perni- 
cious to the soul as poison is to the body. 

" ^ I believe that novel reading, even 
good novel reading, robs the character of 
its gravity, militates against serious views 



62 The Credo of a Reader, 

of life, mars the purity of the heart, weak- 
ens the force of the will. 

*^ ' I believe that many are laboring un- 
der grave illusion in regard to the books 
which they read themselves, and permit 
others to read, silencing the protests of 
a Christian conscience with futile pre- 
texts: a clever book, good style, a pas- 
time, a means of knowing the world and 
guarding against deception, a resource 
against ennui, etc. 

'' ' I believe that persons permitting, fa- 
voring, imposing, or counselling danger- 
ous, bad, or even frivolous reading will 
have a terrible account to render before 
God. 

'^ ' I believe that at the hour of death the 
eyes of many will be opened too late to 
the fatal illusions concerning reading. 

'' ' I believe that if the souls which have 
been lost by bad reading were suddenly lo 
appear before us, we should be appalled 
at their number. 

'' * I believe that if bad books could 
speak they would make terrifying revela- 
tions of their mission of perversion, and of 
.the ravages they have wrought in souls. 

^' ' I believe, finally, that we are obliged 
to exclude rigidly a dangerous book from 



The Devil's Tour. 6^, 

our room; its presence alone is a perma- 
nent source of corruption; and all this I 
believe on the authority of good sense, 
experience, and faith.' " 

XVIII. 

THE DEVIL^S TOUR. 

Here is a legend for the first day of 
the New Year. 

Is it merely a creation of the imagina- 
tion? Alas! I would it were, but the 
allegory veils a fear-inspiring truth. ' 

At sunset a solitary traveller was seen 
taking a village road. He had a sinister 
expression of countenance, a lowering 
brow, under which shone two flame-like 
eyes. A sardonic smile parted his lips, 
and his hair, which hung in straight 
locks over his brow, looked like molten 
steel red from the furnace. Beads of 
unwholesome moisture stood on his fore- 
head and fell upon the earth like drops 
of corrosive acid, burning and blighting 
wherever they fell. The earth trembled 
under his feet and sent forth strange 
sounds; the birds stopped their song and 
hid their heads under their wings as he 
passed; the leaves of the trees trembled 



64 The DeviVs Tom 



II 



as if swept by an angry blast, and the 
turf, wherever his shadow fell, became 
suddenly black, as if burned by a showe 
of live coals. 

And as he plunged the end of his stick' 
into the fountain, the water seethed and 
boiled, filling the air with a dark, thick 
mist, and assumed the appearance of a 
fever-breathing pool. 

The traveller, as he walked, sung a 
song to a strange, weird air; it was a 
sound fitted to excite fear in the stoutest 
heart; the very echo feared to repeat its 
blasphemous \vords, and was silent. 

He paused at the window of every 
house where human beings watched or 
slept, and sent forth a dark vapor, which, 
penetrating the walls, entered the souls 
of those who dwelt within, and gave to 
countenances a strange and appalling 
deformity. 

Nothing otherwise seemed changed in 
the houses, but you heard inarticulate 
murmurs, which sounded like blasphe- 
mies, at which he burst into a sardonic 
laugh, and continued his journey from 
house to house. 

Occasionally, however, his course was 
arrested, and he drew back trembling. 



4< 



The DcviVs Tour, 65 

His hideous features contracted with ter- 
mor at sight of a crucifix or pious picture 
over the cradle of a child or over a 
mother's bed. 

When his tour was ended, he seated 
himself at the gate of the city and mur- 
mured with an unpleasant laugh, '' Now 
my master will be pleased." 

This traveller w^as an emissary from 
hell, with the mission to sow the seed of 
sin. 

Is this, indeed, a legend, this fantastic 
tale? Ah! in every village, near every 
house, about every one of us is there not 
an emissary of Satan endeavoring to sow 
by means of an infidel book, an obscene 
journal, a sensual or impious image, a 
hypocritical friend, that fatal poison 
which inebriates, stupefies, corrupts, and 
destroys? 

O mothers! chosen by God to be the 
angels of the home, place a crucifix 
above the bed of your beloved ones, in 
the room where the family assemble, on 
the breasts of your children. 

The crucifix is the defence of your 
home. 

The protection of the innocence of 
your children. 




^6 A Christian Life, 

The guardian of the peace of your 
soul. 

Your strength in sorrow. if i! 

A magnet which sooner or later will 
draw back to you the poor wanderer for 
whom 3'ou w^eep. 

A house where the crucifix reigns is a 
house whose safety is assured. 

A house whence the crucifix is ban- 
ished is a house menaced with ruin. 

A crucifix worn on the breast, even 
simply as an ornament, indicates that the 
Master is in possession; the Evil One 
may enter the soul protected by the cru- 
cifix, he may dwell there for a time, but 
he can never be in complete possession; 
the Master, Jesus Christ, will drive him 
forth. 

XIX. 

A CHRISTIAN LIFE. 

A Christian life is a serious, a complete 
life. It is the life which Jesus led,— 
the only life which can lead us to heaven, 
and it is composed chiefly of renuncia- 
tion, humiliation, and sacrifice. We have 
abandoned all but the poetic sense of 
these words. Who among us, when 
evening comes, looks back upon the day 



A Christian Life, 67 

as good and profitable because he has suf- 
fered, met with humiHations, been obhged 
to deny himself? Who at the end of such 
a day thanks God for permitting him to 
bear some resemblance to His Son? 

" We have a new method of Chris- 
tianity," said a bishop, *' and it is by no 
means a good method. It consists of an 
accumulation of devotions, pious books, 
and little objects of pietj. Women mul- 
tiply devotional practices, and men re- 
trench as many as possible. Men who 
call themselves and believe themselves 
Christians are satisfied with hearing a 
low Mass on Sunday. Many are satisfied 
with this all their lives, and perhaps do 
not hear the word of God once a year, — 
that true, strong word, which would draw 
them to God, and keep them in the ob- 
servance of His Law." \ 

But the grand maxims of which St. 
Francis de Sales speaks, those grand 
maxims founded on these words of Jesus, 
De7iy thyself^ take up thy cross, and which 
constitute Christianity, are unknown to 
us; we pervert them, weaken them, and 
instead of bowing to their requirements, 
we bend them to our sensuality; and yet 
we say with a certai n pride, I am a Christian. 



68 A Christian Life. 

At the present day, when this decadence 
is so general, are we not obliged to pre- 
serve in all its purity the name of Chris- 
tian, of Catholic, which we are proud to 
bear? 

This name of Christian is of the nature 
of pure gold; it does not become corrupt, 
but it is often charged with foreign matter, 
so that most frequently we have but little 
to add, but much to remove, in order to re- 
store its splendor. 

The following pages deserve to be 
read and reflected upon. They are a 
little severe, perhaps, but they will fur- 
nish a few lights to souls, and alas! how 
many there are who need such enlight- 
enment! 

Certain Impossibilities in a Christian Life, 

To allow ourselves every permissible 
pleasure, and never glide into what is 
forbidden. 

To lead an easy, indolent, idle life, 
without leading a life w^hich is at least 
null before God. 

To enjoy in conversation somewhat 
sensual but delicately veiled ideas, and 



» 



A' Christian Life. 69 

keep the heart within the Hmits of pru- 
dence and Christian modesty. 

To read assiduously, as a pastime^ 
journals filled with worldly, unbecoming- 
adventures, and preserve our thoughts 
pure. 

To read, simply through curiosity, all 
that is said against the Church, the Holy 
Father, religion, pious practices, and pre- 
serve the purity and serenity of our faith, 
— of that faith which made our prayer so 
full of hope and charm. 

To frequent every entertainment, even 
to the neglect of certain duties, and at 
great expense, merely to be seen in so- 
ciety, or because the circle to which we 
belong gives these entertainments, and 
contmue to be a strong, valiant Christian, 
a Christian of sacrifice, a Christian wor- 
thy of heaven. 

To follow our humor and caprice, to 
speak brusquely to our servants, to those 
about us, to be always dissatisfied, and 
to receive holy Communion frequently 
with real profit. 

To have our names on all the charitable 
lists, to give entertainments for charity, 
making these entertainments an excuse 
for extravagant toilets, and be at the same 



7^ A Christian Life, 

time charitable with that charity which 
merits heaven/ 

To repeat a great many prayers, to as- 
sist at a great many sermons, to have all 
the feasts of the Church at our fingers' 
ends, to have a great deal to say about 
devotion, and yet be negligent m the ful- 
filment of our household duties, over- 
bearing, intolerant, curious concerning 
what others do and say, and at the same 
time be truly pious. 

To buy evil publications and thus to 
cu.^-tribute to the support of these anti- 
Christian journals, and feel that we have 
nothing with which to reproach ourselves. 

To give good teachers to our children, 
to expend large sums upon their educa- 
tion, giving ourselves, however, but little 
direct concern for the care of their souls, 
making no effort to give them the exam- 
ple of a truly Christian life, to choose 
their companions, their reading, to pre- 
vent pernicious books and worldly pub- 
lications from falling into their hands, 
and yet feel perfectly at ease with our 
conscience. 

Is this a Christian life? 
No, this does not constitute a Christian 
life, a life that leads to heaven. 



Apostleship in the Family, 7 1 

XX. 

APOSTLESHIP IN THE FAMILY. 

V. 

Sweet and Amiable Piety. 

Children of Mary, this is your apostle- 
ship, and truly, it is a beautiful mission 
to win souls to God by piety united with 
amiability and sweetness. 

The world cannot conceive of a woman 
truly pious if she lack these two virtues. 
In vain are you seen to pray, to fre- 
quent the sacraments, even to be faith- 
fully devoted to your duties; if you are 
not kind and amiable, the world will 
always question your piety, and God, 
who is so generous to you, who has done 
so much for you, He also will say to His 
angels, ''I expected something more." 

Without the virtues of kindness and 
amiability you may perhaps love God, 
but you will never make others love 
Him, and you will fail in one of the ends 
for which God has lavished His gifts 
upon you. 

Do you think it was for any other end 
than to win souls to Him that God so 
generously endowed you with tact, deli- 



72 Apostle ship in the Family. 

cacy, quick perception, and even exterior 
attractions? 

A missionary who remarked that a 
woman would not be received in heaven 
if she did not bring some one with her 
only exaggerated a truth. 

Two old friends, who had served to- 
gether in the same regiment, met on 
feast-day as one of them was leaving th( 
church where he had received holy Com- 
munion. 

" How is it, " said the one, ^^ that you,j 
brought up m camp as I was, have com( 
to receive Communion several times a| 
week? '* 

*' How is it? The way it came about 
very simple and very curious. Th( 
change was wrought in me by a preachei 
vvho never said a word about religion, ^ 
my wife. 

"' She was pious, and first of all, be- 
cause I loved her, I respected her faith, 
though I did not share it. As a young 
girl she was a member of all the confrater- 
nities of her parish, and always signed 
herself ' Enfant de Marie; ' this often 
made me smile, and yet it pleased me. I 
could not tell why. 



Apostleship in the Family, 73 

" On our marriage she gave herself com- 
pletely to me, but remained what she was, 
pious, faithful, c^evoted to her Church; 
but I noticed that her piety never made 
her neglect the least of her duties. 

'^ She rarely spoke to me of God, but I 
read her thoughts in her face; and when 
a bad habit re-asserted itself, and a 
profanity escaped me, I saw her cheek 
blanch, and sometimes a tear trembled in 
her eye. But in a moment she resumed 
her sweet smile, and was as devoted 
as ever, perhaps even more so; she never 
told me I did wrong, but I felt it when 
I was near her. 

'-'- When she knelt to say her morning 
and evening prayers, which she never neg- 
lected, her face seemed illumined, and 
there were moments when, if I. had had 
the courage, I would have fallen on my 
knees beside her. 

" When she returned from church 
after receiving holy Communion, I felt 
a sweeter and more peaceful atmosphere 
about me. She was unusually charming 
and merry on these days. In fact, it was 
an angel that returned to me from 
church. 

^' When she ministered to my wants 



74 Apostleship in the Family, 

and nursed me in sickness, she was a 
Sister of Charity. I am sure that I 
frequently gave her pain, but she never 
permitted me to know it. 

"And suddenly, after six years of this 
silent preaching, which was gradually pen- 
etrating and transforming me without my 
knowledge, I was seized with a desire to 
love God, the God that my w4fe loved, 
and who had inspired her with the faith- 
ful devotion which my declining years re- 
quired, and the sweet virtues which filled 
my life with charm. 

" I cannot exactly explain to myself 
the change w^hich came over me, but one 
day, when she came home after receiving 
holy Communion, I suddenly, without a 
moment's reflection, held out my arms to 
her, and said, ' Jane, take me to your con- 
fessor/ 

" She met my request with her wonted 
calmness, but her eyes filled with tears 
as she embraced me, saying, ^ I knew this 
would come, I have prayed so much for 
it. Thank you.' 

" Since then — well, come and spend 
a few days with us, and you shall judg:e 
of my happiness for yourself*" 



Apostleship in the Famiiy, 75 



* 



Children of Mary, who, to accomplish 
your mission, have left the blessed walls 
within which we formed you to virtue, 
behold your duty: to bring back souls to 
God, to keep them in the observance of 
His law. 

But do not imagine it an easy task, a 
thornless duty. 

In this page, which excites your enthu- 
siasm, you see only the results; you do 
not see, for they cannot be told, the 
daily, almost hourly, sacrifices which the 
object of your mission will unconsciously 
exact; the sacrifice of your time, your 
habits, your intercourse, your tastes, 
your reading, and even your pious exer- 
cises. You do not see the constant ef- 
fort to keep back a complaint, to over- 
look an injustice or want of tact, to keep 
from yielding to feelings of irritation, to 
overcome an inclination to petulance, to 
quickly dry the tears which come unbid- 
den, to conceal from all but God the nu- 
merous vexations and heart-aches which 
fall to your lot, to be always pleasant^ 
always devoted, and, finally, to make it 
understood that you are always happy. 



76 Faults of those we Love. 

The life of a Christian woman bears a 
greater resemblance to martyrdom than 
is supposed. But it is often given her 
to know even on earth the joy of that 
reward which the angels prepare for the 
martyrs in heaven. 

XXI. 

FAULTS OF THOSE W^E LOVE. 



. Who does not know, alas, the touch- 
ing charm with which death envelops all 
memories? The faults of those who are 
gone are forgotten, for we have ceased 
to suffer from them. We feel only the 
void which our loved ones have left, and 
however wayward their course, we can 
recall a time in their lives that v/as good, 
sentiments that were noble and touching. 
This period and these sentiments are our 
most vivid memories, and suffice to make 
us regret them. 

Ah, why should we only discover the 
virtues of those who love us when it is 
too late to appreciate them, to enjoy 
them, and to let our loved ones see that 
we appreciate them! 



i| 



Excelsior ! 77 

XXII. 

excelsior! excelsior! 

Young souls, whom God has endowed 
with noble, virile aspirations, the above is 
the title of a hymn which I send you 
from my solitude. It is written by an 
American poet, and has already thrilled 
many hearts like yours, hearts that never 
lose the ardor of youth, hearts ever im- 
pelled to seek something other than the 
things that are seen, and to love other 
than the things that pass away, — hearts 
thirsting for joy, for happiness, for af- 
fection, but for a joy that never ceases 
to satisfy the heart. 

Hear it, noble souls, and let those scoff 
who can only appreciate what flatters the 
senses and increases worldly treasures. 

EXCELSIOR. 

The shades of night were falHng fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior! 

His brow was sad; his eye beneath. 
P'lnshed like a falchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior! 



7 8 Excelsior. 

In happy homes he saw the light 

Of household fires gleam warm and bright; 

Above the spectral glaciers shone, 

And from his lips escaped a groan. 

Excelsior! 

*' Try not the pass! " the old man said; 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and widel " 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 

Excelsior! 

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered with a sigh, 

Excelsior! 

"Beware the pine tree's wiihered branch! 
Beware the awful avalanche! " 
This was the peasant's last good-night. 
A voice replied, far up the height, 

Excelsior! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of St. Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled aiv. 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
Half buried in the snow was found. 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 



Excelsior. 79 



There in the twilight cold and gray- 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 



Higher! 

Let this be our device, and the cry of 
our souls! 

Higher than the senses. They drag us 
down, down to depths of dishonor and 
shame. 

Higher than human glory. It dazzles, 
it deceives, it does not satisfy the heart. 

Higher than riches. They encumber, 
they wither the heart, leading it to seek 
only self. 

Higher than honors. They weary^ 
they fatigue, they fill us with sentiments 
of contempt and pride. 

Higher than popularity. It abases us, 
leading us to be false to duty. 

Higher still and higher towards those heights 

serene. 

Where our brief desires know no etb and flow ; 

Where the songs of sirens, earth's alluring scene, 

Vanish with the doubts that mocked us here 

below. 



8o God's Appeal to the Soul. 

Higher in our scorning of tlie earthly prize, 
Fighting ever upwards, where saints and mar- 
tyrs trod, 
Yet higher in our love and worship let us rise 
Along that golden stairway ascending unto 
God. 

Translated by Miss S. H. Dabnev. 

Higher is God, is joy, is glory, is 
honor, is peace! 



XXIII. ' 

god's appeal to the soul. 



\ 



God makes a threefold appeal to every 
soul: He asks it to act^ to suffer^ lo pray. 

To act courageously and unselfishly. 

To suffer uncomplainingly. 

To pray perseveringly, never disheart- 
ened if God delays to answer. 

XXIV. ; 

AN INTERESTING STORY. 

The title does not promise more than 
it gives. It is a story which awakens 
tears and smiles as well as fears. 

It is said that nothing equals the 
pleasure of hearing an interesting story 
except narrating one. This pleasure I 
intend to afford the readers of '' Golden 



All Interesting Story, 8t 

bands" to day. Each one of us shall 
relate this interesting story. 

To whom? 

To God first of all; He listens so pa- 
tiently, He judges so kindly, He is so 
merciful in excusing and pardoning. 

To whom else? 

To ourselves. We need to hear it; 
moreover, it is especially interesting to 
us, for it is the story of our lives. 

Let each one, when he retires to his 
room at night, and silence reigns about 
him, try to fill out the skeleton of the 
story given below. I think no sensible 
man can read it without being frequently 
compelled to hang his head with shame. 
And if he is before a crucified image of 
that Judge who cannot be deceived, he 
will cry to him, '' Forgive me, Lord, an^ 
forget my sins." 

My Ignorance, 
Its Ciitpable Causes. 

Yielding to indolence and love of 
pleasure, I neglected to study. 

Yielding to pride, I would not consult 
others or ask advice. 

Yielding to a feeling of weariness and 
indifference, I neglected prayer. 



S2 An Interesting Story. 

Its Effects. 

Evil grew up in my heart like a noxious 
weed, infecting and weakening it, and 
wresting it from duty. The effects of the 
unhappy growth extended toothers, mak- 
ing them idle and insubordinate. 

My Imprudence. 

I opened my heart to all that attracted 
it. 

I read all that fell into my hands. I 
eagerly sought all that pleased me, and I 
said everything that came to my lips. 

My Faults. 

Inhn-ejit, 

Which I have not tried to eradicate. 

AVhich were an obstacle to the good 
I ought to have done. 

Which repelled those I should have 
guided. 

Which occasioned me anxiety, trouble, 
and humiliation. 

Acquired. 

Which paralyzed and destroyed my 
good qualities. 

Which made me over-sensitive, impa- 
tient, jealous, suspicious, selfish. 



An Interesting Story, 2>^ 

My Illusions. 
Of Mind. 

Which warped my judgment. 
Which made me proud, self-satisfied, 
and obstinate. 

Of Heart. 

In which I indulged through indolence. 
Which I excused through pride. 
Which were fostered by sensuality. 

My Disappointments. 
Their Causes. 

My over-eagerness, my want of fore- 
thought, my pride, my levity. 

Humiliation, discouragement, vexation, 
and slothfulcess. 

Their Re suits. 

The destruction of my sweetest friend- 
ships, 

My most brilliant projects, 
My most useful labors. 

My Abuses. 

Of time, of health, of talents, of for- 
tune, of friendship, of advice, of special 
graces from God. 



84 A n Interesting Story. 

My Coiuardice. 
Towards God. 

To whom I did not dare to pray. 
Whom I feared to defend. 

Toiuards my Parents. 

To whom I refused consolation in 
trouble, because it cost me an effort which 
I selfishly refused to make. 

Towards viy Friends. 

To whom I refused assistance in dis- 
tress rather than deny myself. 

Whom I neglected rather than incon- 
venience myself. 

In the Performance of my Duties. 

Which I slothfully neglected. 
Which I accomplished irregularly, fit- 
fully, and for no special intention. 

My Reprehensible Habits, 

Which began at such a period, with 
such an act, against which my conscience 
protested; 

Which rule me, tyrannize over me, and 
cause me to blush for myself. 

My Acts of Injustice, 

Reputations I may have destroyed 
through imprudence, through malice, 



A Leswn of Philosophy. e55 

tnrough jealousy. Secrets I have re- 
vealed through the same motives. 

Possessions of others which I have re- 
tained, lost, or neglected. 

Pious friendships which I have been 
false to, or slothfuUy abandoned. 

Let us go no further. I fear as we pro- 
ceed our story might be called an appal- 
ling rather than a pleasant tale. 

XXV. 

A LESSON OF PHILOSOPHY. 

The Street. 

We shall take our practical lesson of 
philosophy to-day from the street. From 
the midst of that perpetual movement, 
that deafening noise, that weary tumult, 
that dusty highway, that crowd of stran- 
gers who elbow and jostle one another, 
shall we seek a ray of light for our guid- 
ance in the path of life. 

L 

Have you never, as you watched the 
crowd in large cities perpetually going 
and coming, receiving constant accessions 
from the cross-streets, — have you never 
asked yourself how it is that each indi- 
vidual goes back and forth to his business 



II 



86 A Lesson of Philosophy, 

without interfering with another or meet- 
ing with an accident ? From this window 
on the first floor, let us watch the crowd 
as it moves and sways in its progress 
down the street,— watch it and studv it. 

\st. Each one yields a little his idght of way. 

Each one has a right to go in a straight 
line and by the shortest way to his des- 
tination, but if he were to claim this right, 
he would meet, before he had gone many 
steps, some one else asserting the same 
claim, and there would be a collision; he 
would be forced to stop, and confusion 
and disaster would follow; but instead of 
pushing ruthlessly on, the sensible man 
turns a little to the left here, and a little 
to the right there, gently takes advantage 
of every available space to glide through 
the crowd, taking a little trouble, to be 
sure, but inconveniencing no one, and 
reaches his destination in a pleasant frame 
of mind and cheerful humor. 

2d, Each one follows the movements of the 

crowd. 

No one goes faster or slower than those 
about him. If the street is large and 
spacious, the sensible man, of course, 
moves quickly; if the street is narrow, 



A Lesson of Philosophy. 87 

and the crowd dense, he simply follows 
the general movement, and avoids being- 
jostled or elbowed himself, or jostling and 
elbowing others. If an accident happens, 
causing a block, he does not press for- 
ward, knowing that he cannot do so with- 
out injury to himself and others. He 
waits. Knowing how to wait opportune- 
ly is here, as elsewhere, the quickest and 
surest way of obtaining our end. 

3^. — All help one another a liitle. 

This aid, perhaps, is not given to any 
one directly. Men start from their homes 
thinking perhaps but little of the affairs 
of others, but if a block occurs which im- 
pedes traffic, the sensible man offers his 
advice, helps to clear the way, and all 
profit by his assistance. No thanks are 
expressed to him, but in laboring for oth- 
ers he labors for his own interests, and 
he is content. 

II. 

Is not the street an image of life, and 
do we not find ourselves surrounded and 
pressed upon all sides by a crowd which 
increases as we advance ? Relatives, 
friends, acquaintances, strangers, jealous 
companions, rivals, enemies, — are they 



88 A Less 071 of Philosophy. 

not before us, behind us, about us, press- 
ing forward, keeping pace with us, pass- 
ing us, opposing us? And if we would 
ghde unharmed through this multitude, 
we must — 

\st. — Yield our rights from time to time. 

One's rights are very ungraceful things. 
Above all, they are very hard to define,! 
and one who rigidly insists upon or as-] 
serts them subjects himself to much an 
noyance and injustice. 

In rigidly asserting our rights we musi 
necessarily clash with the claims of oth-j 
ers as just as our own, and then follow 
Strife and hatred. 

Side by side with these rights, to divest 
them of all their sharpness and harshness, 
God has placed duties, — duties of friend- 
ship, of society, of charity particularly. 
Dutv is the alluring, attractive exterior 
which makes our rights recognized and 
observed. Happy they who make their 
rights bow to their duties I 

2d. — Follow the general movement. 

No doubt, every one must live his own 
life, and should not blindly do as those 



A Lesson of Philosophy. 89 

about him; nevertheless, it is well not to 
be Zoo wise. 

We need not deliberately clash with 
the opinion of others^ and when there is 
no question of risk to our souls, we ought 
to know how to be able to accept, or at 
least to tolerate, opinions which are not 
to our taste. The glory of criticising, 
domineering, putting people down, gives 
more trouble than satisfaction, and being 
hospitable to other people's ideas wins 
us friends who are useful sooner or later. 

3^/. — Help one a?? other a Hi tie. 

This is one of the laws of good sense, 
and it is particularly the law of Christians: 
^' Bear ye one another's burdens," — a 
beautiful law, which, when observed, 
makes life so calm and peaceful, and 
creates such a sweet family spirit in those 
who live together. 

What is loving one another, if it is not 
bearing with one another? What is 
being just, if it is not being indulgent 
almost without measure? What is being 
happy, if it is not being good? 

A sensible man's natural instinct of 
self-preservation, and his desire for rest, 
lead him to observe these rules, which 



90 In the Mire, — In Heaven, 

protect him and enable him to return in 
peace to his home. And we, who have 
received in baptism the instinct of charity, | 
which we feel increased in us by the re- 
ception of the Eucharist, why do we not 
let him be our guide in the relations of 
life? i 

XXVI. 

IN THE MIRE. — IN HEAVEN. 
I. 

Pardon us, pious readers of *' Golden 
Sands," pardon us the page we present to 
you with the unattractive title, '' In the 
Mire." 

It is not intended for you; you will not 
understand it; yet we place it in your 
hands, that you may cause it to reach 
those for whom it is written. 

Ah, dear reader, if you know a father 
so cruel as to wrest from the soul of his 
child the memory of her first Communion, 
to forbid her to enter a church, to keep 
by her bed-side the crucifix and medal 
which remind her that she is a Christian, 
take every means to send him this page, 
which we tremblingly remit to you. 



In the Mi7'e, — In Heaven, 91 

It is taken from a book the title of 
, pvhich I should not tell you, and which I 
Ihiave not read myself. A friend copied 
this page forme, praying God that its 
'publication and propagation by innocent 
I hands would repair the evil it had 
I wrought in her. 

I A young girl, brought up by an unhap- 
Ipy father who professed himself a free- 
I thinker, drifted after the manner of 
an unguarded soul into that dangerous 
path where one is unconsciously and 
irresistibly drawn to nameless depths of 
infamy. 

She stands before her father, who has 
just refused one of her caprices and ad- 
dressed to her sharp words of reproof. 
She stands before him with clasped hands 
and eyes sparkling with anger. 

''You have nothing to reproach me 
with, father," she says, her voice trem- 
bling with passion. ''What has been 
your care of me, what did you plant in 
my soul, in my mind, in my heart? In 
the life of every woman there comes a 
time of temptation, an hour when she 
feels herself drawn toward the abyss of 
evil. Other women brought up in the 



92 In the Mire. — In Heaven, 

faith have something to sustain them; I 
had nothing, nothing to stay me, noth- 
ing to which I could cling. I called for 
help, no one came. I looked up to heav- 
en, to heaven which you had made void 
to me! 

^^ I know what you will say: the world 
has driven me forth; I know the epithet, 
it applies to me. I have fallen, fallen so 
low that, were it not for this child, my 
angel sister, who has preserved her faith 
in spite of you, I would not have found a 
hand stretched forth to me in my shame; 
and this shame, this ignominy is your 
work, father; you may be proud of it. 
— God, the soul, the Blessed Virgin, 
eternity, the crucifix, — mummeries you 
called them. No, they are sacred things, 
which should be left above all to wom- 
en, for they are weak, and without \iis 
belief in eternal truths they needs mjst 
fall." 

As she turned to leave the room, the 
unhappy father, struck down in his pride, 
said, '^ Where are you going, my child? " 

'' Where am I going? Where the des- 
pairing go who have ceased to believe in 
truth or goodness or justice. I am going 



In the Mire. — In Heaven, 93 

where unhappy girls brought up by pat- 
ients like you go— /^ the mire'' 

II. 

; The same day that this sad page came 

before our eyes, God caused us to find, 

)as compensation and contrast, a few sim- 

jple lines, restful in their naive simplicity. 

)If the page entitled *^ In the Mire " leaves 

ja sad and painful impression on the soul, 

ithis' one inspires sweet and peaceful 

^thoughts. We would not willingly read 

the first page a second time, but we turn 

I to these lines as readily as we would open 

.our mouths to inhale a sweet and balmy 

^air. 

f Poor John, whose prayer you are about 
^ to read, had not much book learning. 
. He had led an innocent, faithful life, sim- 
; ply accomplishing his rude labors, peace- 
] fully accepting the lot which Providence 
assigned to him. 

But oh ! what tongue may express the 
treasure of knowledge which illumines, 
rejoices, and nourishes him now in heav- 
en? Is it not incomparably more precious 
than that vain knowledge which blighted 
the soul of that unhappy girl? 



94 J'^ ihe Mire, — In Heaven. 



JOHN'S PRAYER. 



HI 



He was father of many children — many his nee 

each day, 
Yet never a murmur he uttered; he meekly made 

his way 
Ever meekly and humbly to church, and all his 

prayer 
To his Lord was this prayer only: See John before 

Thee here. 

Yet his Lord seemed never to see him, his Lord 

seemed never to hear; 
Heavy and yet more heavy his burdens grew to 

bear; 

And still, as each blow fell sharply, more humble 

John became, 
As though God's very coldness set his heart aflame. 

He died, and his sou^ soared upward to heaven's 

glorious gate. 
At the threshold of fair paradise he knelt him down 

to wait. 
And with ever the same humility, the same meek, 

trusting word, 
Yet once more he repeated : See John before Thec^ 

Lord, 

But, this time, suddenly, sweetly, his watchful 

Lord replied. 
Swift came forth the angels, as the grand gates 

swung aside. 
To the feet of the King Eternal the just man's soul 

they bore, 
And God spake : Before John behold Me, His oiV7t 

fore'Jjermore. 

Translated bv Miss S. Z. Emerv. 



I 



Sanctity. — Means of Attaining it. 95 
XXVII. 

SANCTITY. SIMPLE AND EASY MEANS OF 
ATTAINING IT. 

ist.—To do a little better every day. 

Do not try to do more^ but better. An 
attempt to do more often hampers us, 
wearies us, and makes us conceited, but 
the attempt to do better only sanctifies. 

Let us say, for example: To-day I 
will say such a prayer with more atten- 
tion, I will perform such a duty more 
carefully, I shall be more gentle with N. 
at such a time. 

Let us resolve upon only one amend- 
ment, and faithfully carry it out. 

2d, — To endeavor to be more faithful exte- 
riorly. 

This exterior fidelity, which consists 
in beginning a duty at the hour fixed for 
it, in peacefully continuing it, in inter- 
rupting it cheerfully to do a kindness, in 
leaving no interval between one duty and 
another, is very difficult to our indolent, 
fickle nature, and to our love of inde- 
pendence, but what grace, what peace, 



g6 Sanctity. — Means of Attaining it, 

what joy it brings to the soul that has 
acquired it! 

"We must take up our duties vigor- 
ously, in a whole-hearted way," a saint 
used to say; " it is easier to accomplish 
them and we do them with better humor." 
Now, a certain gayety is necessary in the 
work of sanctification. A merry heart 
bears one on and lightens fatigue; the 
soldier sings on his march, and the work- 
man pressed by his work. The soul 
should sing also to go more rapidly and 
faithfully. 

3^. — To give a little ti??ie to recollection eack 
day. 

To recollect ourselves is to gather into 
a little corner of our souls, as in a sanc- 
tuary, all our powers: understanding, 
memory, w411, the power of loving, im- 
agination, sensibility, activity, — as a moth- 
er gathers her loved ones about her ini 
her room. ■ 

Then to see that for a certain time 
nothing enters from without to disturb 
this intimate reunion, and to give to each 
faculty, but gently and affectionately, 
something which will be to it what life is 
to the plant, dew to the flower, food to 



I 



Sanctity. — Means of Attaining it. 97 

the weak stomach, rest to the weary 
members: a word that has fallen from 
the lips of Jesus, a page written by men 
of generous heart and ardent soul, a 
noble, elevating thought, a prayer written 
by a saint. 

Who may describe the peace, the joy, 
the sweetness, the serenity, the light, the 
strength, the advantage of these few mo- 
ments of each day given to that intimate 
reunion of the powers of our being in the 
presence of God! 

These few moments of the morning do 
more for our sanctity and happiness, even 
earthly happiness, than many active, in- 
dustrious hours of the day. In these 
moments we are renewed, restored, healed 
of the wounds of yesterday. We antici- 
pate obstacles, and arm ourselves for com- 
bat and labor. 

In these moments we see, we feel, 
we appreciate what eye cannot see nor 
tongue express.* 

^th. — To be less eager for news and useless 
information, 

" How many people," says Father 
Faber, *^ the reading of newspapers has 
kept from perfection!" 



98 Sanctity, — Mea?is of Attaining it. 

Idle knowledge, a desire to know what 
some individual has done, what he thinks 
or what he has said of us, a desire to 
be the first to give news, an eager seek- 
ing for news, talking only to display 
our information, endeavoring to excite 
a laugh with no other intention than to 
afford idle amusement, — all these, and 
acts of like nature, disturb the soul, fill it 
with idle vanities, and leave it far behind 
in the path of sanctity. 

5M. — To visit the Blessed Sacrament more 
frequently, 

Happy the souls whose position per- 
aiits themx to visit Our Lord for a few 
moments four, five, ten times a day, to 
visit Him as an adjoining neighbor, to 
say an affectionate ^' Good-morning/' 
as a counsellor, to ask advice, as a kind 
and faithful friend to whom we must say 
a word of thanks. We always feel the 
effects of a visit to the Blessed Sacra- 
ment; and sometimes, in moments of dis- 
couragement, it suftices to go to the door* 
of the chapel to feel one's heart strength- 
ened. 

When our occupation keeps us from 
His sacramental presence, let us make it 



Sanctity. — Means of Attaining it, 99 

a habit to close our eyes from time to 
time and realize His in-dwelling in our 
hearts. 

6th.— To work with energy, but avoiding 
ovcreagerness. 

There is always a certain slowness 
about the saints. They are active, in- 
dustrious, enterprising, yet they always 
and in all things act with reflection. The 
saints never do anything by halves. They 
finish everything, even to the last letter of 
the word. '^ The movements of grace," 
says Fenelon, ^' are simple and peaceful." 

7/^. — To multiply acts of kindness. 

These are the coin with which we pur- 
chase heaven. Let us not despise the 
most insignificant ; it is just these we 
should multiply; they cost so little and 
are hardly noticeable. They are like the 
pennies: they seem msignificant, but if 
we faithfully gather them we soon be- 
come rich. Our angel guardians are ap- 
pointed to gather all our kind, consider- 
ate, obliging acts and bear them to heav- 
en, where they are rolling up interest for 
us. 



loo A Small Alms for Catholic Schools, 
XXVIII. 

A SMALL ALMS FOR CATHOLIC SCHOOLS, 



1 



We come to you again as messengers 
from infant souls to ask in God's name 
a small alms for Catholic schools. 

You were generous in the past; con- 
tinue your generosity, let it never cease! 

For that devastating soul-hunger never 
ceases. The Evil One never ceases to 
flatter, to attract, to allure; and he has 
gold, and he gives it with prodigality for 
the ruin of souls. 

If on a cold winter's day you hear a 
child's voice asking for bread in unmis- 
takable accents of suffering, is not your 
heart touched, and are you not happy to 
help the little sufferer by any alms how- 
ever small? 

It may be a very small sum, but it is a 
morsel of bread, a little strength, a ray 
of hope^ a ray of happiness. When the 
little one smiled and thanked you, did it 
not kindle a ray of happiness in your 
own heart also? And if with the thought- 
lessness of a child he forgot to thank 
you, another did it for him; his good 
angel thanked you on earth, and his 
heavenly Father thanked you in heaven. 



A Small Alms for Catholic Schools. loi 






Ch, that we could behold the condition 
of souls as we do that of the body! If 
the cries of hungry souls could reach our 
ears, what a desolate, heartrending sight 
would meet us every day, every hour, in 
our streets! How our hearts would be 
wrung by that cry of soul-hunger, that 
nameless, indescribable suffering! 

My God, open our eyes! Cause us to 
see the misery, the destitution of a soul 
that no longer calls Thee Father. Give 
us to understand the sad, the desolate 
condition of a soul thirsting for Thee 
with no one to lead it to Thee. Hunger- 
ing for Thee, yet ever withheld from 
Thee by a force it is powerless to resist! 

Oh, had we this spiritual insight, how 
generously we would give! 

Poor little children, thrust into schools 
whence God is driven forth, and with 
Him innocence, candor, happiness! Dear 
souls, so tenderly loved of Jesus, how 
sad, how destitute, how deplorable is 
your condition in His fatherly eyes! 

Formerly you daily knelt at your 
mother^s knee, and holding your little 
hands clasped in hers, she poured forth 



10 2/1 Small Alms for Catholic Schools, 

her soul in the beautiful words of the 
'' Our Father " or the '' Hail Mary," 
prayers which are the food of the soul; 
and she gently instilled in your infant 
hearts the sweet teaching of the good 
God, Who sees all. Who gives all, Who 
hears all; the teachings of that God Who 
must be loved because He is good, Who 
must be obeyed because He is Master. 

And later, when you went to school, a 
pious teacher supplemented these simple 
lessons with stronger food, which grad- 
ually strengthened you against the trials 
and temptations of life. 

And you grew up frank, happy, affec- 
tionate children. You had your faults, 
your evil inclinations, your caprices, but 
your open, honest glance told of a pure 
heart, and guided by your mother and 
the priest, you gradually prepared your- 
self for that transformation which usually 
follows first Communion. 

But now, poor children, your souls 
are starved, your mind is filled with 
knowledge, useful knowledge no doubt^ 
but pertaining only to material welfare, 
— to this, and nothing more. 

Your memory is charged with scien- 
tific terms which impart a superficial 



A Small Alms /or Caiholic Schools, 103 

brilliancy, like the bespangled finery of 
the little street-singer, which under the 
appearance of mimic splendor conceals 
the saddest poverty. 

There is nothing for your soul, noth- 
ing for your heart! Nothing to elevate 
them, nothing to make them pure, de- 
voted, strong, generous. 

Ah, it is of you indeed that the Prophet 
said: *^ The little ones have asked for 
bread, and there was none to break it 
unto them" (Lam. iv. 4). 

Oh, ye rich of this world, Christian 
workmen, ye who eat your bread in ease, 
let me appeal to you in the name of 
Jesus Christ, in behalf of these poor ex- 
piring souls, who are gradually losing 
even the consciousness of their destitu- 
tion. 

Give of your surplus to our Catholic 
schools. Give, ye rich, give; almsgiving 
is the sister of prayer. 

Give, that God, Who endows families, 
may give to your sons happiness, and to 
your daughters grace. 

Give, that, when your last hour comes, 
against your sins may be offered the pray- 
er of a child's soul in heaven. 



I04 What is Death 1 

XXIX. 

TO LAYDOvVN THE BURDEN OF HUMAN 
MISERIES, IS THIS TO DIE? 

You have doubtless seen Ary Scheffer's 
beautiful engraving of St. Monica and 
St. Augustine. Do you not remember, 
the first time you were in the presence of 
these two souls, the moment of ecstasy 
you experienced when your own soul 
seemed to detach itself from your body 
and soared above with the glance of St. 
Augustine and the thought of St. Monica, 
and your lips involuntarily murmured 
the words which are the text of this 
picture: " There is nothing more for me on 
earth ".? 

I have seen this picture reproduced in 
life. Let me give it to you: 

Two sisters still young are seated to- 
gether, speaking also of those heavenly 
things which are to the soul the light, 
the food, the air which sustain its life. 

One of them, stricken with a cruel pul- 
monary malady, which is slowly consum- 
ing her life, has reached that stage when 
her stay upon earth is numbered only by 
hours. She is speaking of the joys of 
heaven, whither she is soon to take her 



What is Death ? 105 

flight. Her sister, clasping the invalid's 
hand in hers, says, *^ But death, dearest, 
does death inspire you with no fear?'' 

*' Death? there is no death," the dying 
girl answers eagerly, her face illumined 
as by a divine ray. " See," she continues, 
" I feel, I pray, I love, I understand, — this 
is my life. What is this breath that flut- 
ters in my breast ? What is this pressure 
of your hand upon mine? Nothing, all 
this is nothing. 

'' My life, my real life, that which loves 
God, which aspires to Him, which loves 
you, dearest sister, that will never cease; 
it will be expanded and developed, it will 
become sweeter, more peaceful, more 
complete, but extinguished, — never! In 
heaven I shall feel, I shall pray, I shall 
love, I shall understand forever, forever, 
and with what power! That which is 
about to take place within me, for I feel 
indeed the approach of a momentous 
hour, is an extension of my life, a change, if 
you will, but not an interruption of life; 
no, it is not death." 

** And the suffering through which one 
may have to pass?" "Suffering!" she 
says with a gesture of disdain, " suffering 
— a momentary shock, nothing more! 



io6 What is Deaths 






** You will be with me, sister, and you 
will pray. I shall see you, I shall think 
of you, and you will absorb my suffering. 
And when my fading vision can no longer 
behold you, when my hand can no longer 
feel the pressure of yours, God will be there 
to sustain me; you are His image, He is 
the reality. He is the being to Whom I 
aspire to be united. He is peace; He is 
rest; He is the eternal home whence I 
shall look down upon you, sister, whence 
I shall love you, and whither I will soon 
call you. To Him do I go. 

" Oh! let us not speak of death, let us 
speak rather of life. I feel the need to 
expand my life." 

And collecting her remaining strength, 
the dying girl sang in a low, sweet voice 
the following refrain of an air which the 
sisters had often sung together: 

*' Here below the lilies die, 
The bird's song is brief; 
I dream of summers which endure forever." 

Then, wearied with the effort, she lay 
back upon her pillow with a smile. The 
next morning she received holy Commun- 
ion, which was brought her almost every 
day, and a few hours later, with her hand 
in her sister's, she cried, " Yes ! yes !" as 



A Model, 107 

if answering a call only intelligible to her 
ears, and expired. 

XXX. 

A MODEL. 

Thou art this model, O Mary! and I 
take the page which tells me so well what 
thou art and what I should be, from Mgr. 
Gay's rich collection, as one takes from a 
casket a diamond the beauty of which he 
wishes to contemplate. 

^^ Mary never ceased for a moment to 
correspond fully and perfectly to divine 
grace, and thus to acquire numberless and 
priceless merits. 

^' God never placed in her soul a seed 
which did not produce the harvest He 
expected. 

" He asked nothing which she did not 
give Him immediately and completely; 
He counselled nothmg which she did not 
hasten to choose and to do. He inspired 
nothing which she did not believe and 
accomplish. 

" She never relinquished for a moment 
the thought of God, of His will, of His 
desire, of His presence, 

** She never robbed Him of a joy which 



io8 A Model, 



1 



she could give Him; she never thwarted 
a degree of glory which she could render 
Him. 

*' She was but a mirror reflecting His 
designs, a smiling acceptance of His least 
good pleasure. 

" She was a creature abandoned to His I 
service, abandoned to His mercy. ■ 

" She followed His inspiration in all 
things — followed it completely and fol- I 
lowed ii to the end. 

'' She was always and in all things com- 
pletely docile to Him, and abandoned her- 
self to Him with the most perfect love 
of which she was at the moment capa- 
ble. 

'' Consider Mary in any position you 
will, from her own birth to that of Jesus, 
from the birth of Jesus to the sacrifice on 
Calvary, then to her own death and blessed 
Assumption, and you will find her in no 
other interior disposition than that ex- 
pressed in her reply to the archangel: 
* Behold the handmaid of the Lo?'d,' These 
words come from her soul like the breath 
from her lips. She does not repeat them, 
she lives them; they are the respiration 
of her heart, the mould of her being." 

O Mary, may 1 be like thee a servant 



The Advantage of having Enemies. 109" 

that can always answer y^i- to the will of 
the Master! 

XXXL 

THE ADVANTAGE OF HAVING ENEMIES. 

This title seems a paradox, yet it is the 
declaration of a truth. 

'' Enemies! " said a clever critic. " They 
are the nerve, the stimulus, the battle, 
the success of life! " 

The author and artist can truly say at 
each new success: " O my enemies, I thank 
you! Your cutting censures roused me 
from my idle dreaming, spurred me to 
manlier efforts, incited me to study, to 
work; the desire to disprove your words 
impelled me higher." 

To a man of courage an enemy is a 
powerful and efficient auxiliary; to the 
coward an enemy is a zephyr which over- 
throws him. 

But let us leave this purely human 
side of the question and confine ourselves 
to that path which leads direct to heaven. 

An enemy, that is, one whom we suppose, 
justly or unjustly, to be inimical to us, 
always censuring what we do or say, is a 
heavy cross to any one; but to certain 



no The Advantage of having Enemies. 

sensitive, loving souls an enemy is acute 
suffering, and yet in the designs of God 
he is an instrument of moral and intellec- 
tual greatness, an instrument of sanctity. 

God has willed that everywhere, even 
in the most united families and the ho- 
liest communities, we should encounter 
some one inimical to us, and who one 
time or another makes us sensible of his 
enmity. 

We should love one another, we desire 
to love and do love one another, when, lo! 
a slight feeling of indifference arises little 
by little in a companion's heart, then a 
certain estrangement, then a feeling of 
antipathy, which repels us. And this 
companion, insensible of the growth of 
these feelings, would probably deny their 
existence. 

No doubt he would refrain from say- 
ing anything against us, but he will say 
XiO\Xm\gfor us. He will smile when we 
blunder; he will not actually exhibit our 
foibles, but he will take no pains to con- 
ceal them; he will be silent when we 
speak. 

His presence will weigh upon us with- 
out our being able to account for it; 
his critical glance will seem to follow us 



I 



The Advantage of having Enemies, ill 

everywhere; his presence will seem to 
paralyze our efforts; our mind will 
lose its spirit, and our amiability its 
charm. 

Now, this enemy whom we meet every 
day, every hour, this enemy of whom we 
have no direct complaint to make, and 
with whom we must live in certain inti- 
macy, is placed here by God to modify 
and ameliorate our character, to make us 
kind, compassionate, devoted, — m a word, 
to sanctify us; and we can find more 
means of sanctity through him than 
through an intimate friend. 

That scrutinizing glance which you say 
follows you everywhere forces you to 
observe better order in regard to yourself 
and those about you, forces you to be 
more punctual, more diligent, ^^ore 
thoughtful. 

That biting word, or that smile which 
you fear, forces you to be more kindly in 
your words, to be more humble in speak- 
ing of yourself, more reserved in every- 
thing. 

That indifference which pains you so 
deeply makes you appreciate not only the 
pain you have so frequently given others, 
but even that which you have given the 



112 The Advantage of having Enemies. 

Heart of Jesus, and incites you to be 
kinder and more devoted. 

Ah! do not ask God to remove this 
enemy, but to give you grace to regard 
him in the light of God's designs. This 
enemy is the sto7ie which smoothes your 
sharp angles, the iron corselet which forces 
you to bear yourself erect and firm, the 
sting which stimulates your nonchalance; 
above all, he is a means of enabling you 
to fulfil daily, and with immense profit, 
God's great commandment, a means of 
imitating Jesus more perfectly by loving 
your enemies and returning good for evil. 

Ah, with what fatherly tenderness God 
hears a prayer for that enemy whom you 
find such a rude trial! What abundant 
graces will reward you for a delicate word 
in praise of him spoken in his absence! 
How great will be your reward in heaven 
for a work winning him esteem and con- 
sideration, quietly accomplished by you 
without his knowledge! 

A soul in a family or religious commu- 
nity without an enemy who subjects it to 
more or less suffering is like a spoiled 
child: it is ignorant of the two virtues, de- 
votion and sacrifice, which do most for 
the elevation and ennoblement of the soul. 



The A IviS'box. 115 

XXXII. 

THE ALMS-BOX. 

This is a little box of various styles, 
but always prett}^ destined to receive 
each evening the result of our forethought 
and charity, — little savings, which later 
afford so much pleasure and happiness. 

The alms-box in the households of the 
poor, placed there by the mother of the 
family, is a sign of order, economy, indus- 
try, and particularly of love for some 
helpless one or a little one to whom it 
will furnish at a future period useful re- 
sources. 

Oh, that the Angel of the hearth could 
tell us all the privations and weary labor 
which the poor mother endured to be able 
to add a penny or two each evening to 
the modest hoard! 

An alms box in a young girl's room is 
a sign of order and charity, a sign par- 
ticularly of that rare virtue, self-sacrifice, 
practised not occasionally, but almost 
daily. 

And the contents of this box which 
stands by the young girl's first Commun- 
ion picture are not for her needs or those 
of her family. God has provided for 



114 The A ImS'box, 

these; she would provide for the needs of 
others. And that these alms may be more 
pleasing to God, she gives only money 
economized in her pleasures. She de- 
ducts from all that she receives a certain 
sum for her alms-box, and when she has 
any favor to ask of God she begins by de- 
positing her offering. Money, which is so 
powerful on earth, is powerful also in 
heaven; and, moreover, as she gives first, 
has she not reason to feel confident that 
God in His turn will give to her? 

At the end of the year she will not find 
herself any poorer for the small sums she 
has dropped in her alms-box, and she will 
have the happiness of clothing a little or- 
phan or of giving some comfort to a poor 
invalid, to say nothing of the interest 
which is rolling up for her in heaven. 

* 

A lover of Jesus in the Sacrament of 
the Altar has just established a special 
alms-box, which bears the name *' Alms- 
box of the Blessed Sacrament,'' On one 
side is painted a picture of the Blessed 
Sacrament surmounted by the words 
*' Adveniat regnum iuum; " on the other 
side is inscribed: ^^ Eucharistic harvest 
of daily sous gathered by St. Labre, the 






The Ainu-box. 1 15 

poor man of the Forty Hours." These 
sous are destined to pay for the pure 
wax which is burned before the Blessed 
Sacrament in poor country churches dur- 
ing the monthly exposition. 

One of the religious of the Blessed Sac- 
rament, those children of P. Eymard who 
have consecrated their lives to serve the 
adorable and sovereignly royal person of 
Jesus dwelling in our midst, grieved at 
the poor state which surrounds Jesus 
when He comes forth from the tabernacle, 
conceived the idea of establishing this 
alms-box. 

In educational houses it is placed at 
the entrance to the chapel; and each 
child, on the morning she has received 
Jesus into her heart, drops unperceived 
a trifling sum into it as she leaves the 
chapel. And this little alms is an offering 
of gratitude, of love, and of charity al- 
so, for Jesus is very poor. Retrenched 
from money usually expended in bon-bons^ 
and given regularly, it gradually trains a 
child in that life of renunciation, of sac- 
rifice, of generosity, which is the basis of 
the Christian life. And this trifling offer- 
ing, dear children, may be more pleasing 
to God than larger alms which you will 



ii6 The Alms -box. 

give later, and which, taken from a fuller 
purse, will be less of a sacrifice than these 
small sums from a school-girl's modest 
allowance, given perhaps more fervently 
aad more secretly. 

At the end of the year, a few days be- 
fore the distribution of the prizes, the 
alms-box of the Blessed Sacrament is 
publicly opened in the chapel, and the 
Communion alms, placed in a basket held 
by two children, are offered to Jesus with 
a solemn prayer, which is followed by a 
hymn; the offering is left at the foot of 
the altar all day, and the next morning it 
is sent to one of the communities of the 
Blessed Sacrament. Happy houses where 
the alms-box receives each week the Com- 
munion alms ! 

Happy children who can deny them- 
selves a trifling sum for Jesus each week, 
to drop it in the alms-box unobserved by 
any one but Jesus! 

Happy also the poor little ones who 
have not always even this penny to give, 
and who confide the trials of their pover^ 
ty to Jesus! Do not blush to be poor! 
Jesus was poorer than you; go to Him, 
and He will say to you more tenderly 
than to others: '' My child, I love you.'* 



Buying Happiness^ iJ7 

XXXIII. 

BUYING HAPPINESS. 

A PIOUS Christian, on days when he felt 
particularly sad or when a heavy trial 
weighed upon bis soul, was wont to put 
some gold pieces in his pocket and say: 
'^ I am going to buy happiness;" and he 
went through the streets in search of the 
needy, to whom he gave in God's name^ 
asking a prayer in return. When he re- 
turned to his home he always felt strength- 
ened. 

The experiment is easy and inexpen- 
sive; why not try it? 

If, as faith tells me, I give to God by 
the hand of the poor, will God not give 
to me? If I, a poor selfish creature, am 
grateful, will God not begratefu^"" 

XXXIV. 

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. 

^^ A RELIGIOUS man, who was rich, but 
who appreciated that his wealth was given 
him only to help others, felt his charity de- 
creasing as Christmas approached. 

'' He believed himself obliged, because 
of his connections, to make certain pres- 



1 1 8 Chf'istmas Presents, 

ents, and to meet the outlay they required 
he curtailed his charities. 

^' A few days before Christmas a Sister 
of Charity accustomed to receive a wel- 
come from him appeared at his door. 

'^ He blushed, gave a small offering, 
and stammeringly uttered some vague ex- 
cuses about the heavy outlay for pres* 
ents. 

'* The Sister turned upon him that gentle, 
penetrating glance which sanctity pos- 
sesses, and graciously expressed her 
thanks, but as she was leaving there hov- 
ered about her lips a half-repressed smile, 
which impressed and troubled him. 

" When he was alone he silently opened 
the closet where his costly gifts were 
spread out upon shelves. An icy breath 
seemed to come from the wealth of ex- 
travagant laces, costly caskets, and ex- 
quisite bonbonnieres. He stood a moment 
in serious reflection. 

*^0n the first shelf were the children's 
gifts. — 'Oh! the children's, they are sa- 
cred,' he said; 'they are a ray of sun on 
those charming flowers, those little crea- 
tures whom happiness so well adorns; 
they are a smile from the Infant God of 
Christmas — yes, let us leave the children 



Christmas Presents, 119 

all that will not accustom them to too 
much luxury.' And he withdrew ^\'t or 
six articles that were merely idle extrava- 
gances. 

'^ Before the second shelf his eyes fell 
abashed: it seemed to him there were 
tears in those extravagant and useless 
bon-bons^ — in those fantastic and idle 
publications, in those costly jew'els, and 
a voice from them seemed to say: ''you 
might have clothed ten families with the money 
you have spent.' 

'^ He seated himself and remained for 
some time with his face buried in his 
hands. 

'^ When he raised his head there was a 
peaceful expression in his countenance: 
God had sent a ray of light into this 
troubled soul. 

'^ He carefully gathered the costly ex- 
travagances one by one and went out with 
them. On his return a few hours later 
his face shone with happiness. He seat- 
ed himself by the empty shelves and 
wrote the following letter, which he cop- 
ied several times, changing only a few 
words: 

'' ' I intended to send you Christmas 
gifts as usual this year, and here I am 



I 20 Christmas Presents, 

sending you only a Christmas-rose from 
the Httle garden under my window. 

" ' I had devoted a hundred francs to 
gifts for you, but under the inspiration of 
your good angel and mine I expended 
them in a way which I know your pious 
heart will approve. 

" * I have just taken in your name a hun- 
dred francs worth of warm clothing to 
the family of N — . They bless you, and 
the inclosed is a letter they have written 
you to express their gratitude; I add to it 
the Christmas-rose: the grateful words of 
the happy poor will perfume the flower 
which bloomed in the midst of the frost. 

'' ' Am I not right in believing that you 
prefer the happiness of the needy to the 
trifling satisfaction of receiving a few 
pretty trinkets, which would be lost in 
the rich profusion of ornaments in your 
drawing-room? ' 

" The good Christian wrote thus until a 
late hour and went to bed with a peace- 
ful conscience and a happy heart." 

The narrator of this simple story told 
me the impression it made upon him the 
first time he heard it. 

It was Christmas eve, just as he was 
setting out to purchase some expensive 



Christmas Pi'esenis, 12.1 

gifoj. He seated himself for a moment, 
full of the impression the story made up- 
on him, and it seemed to him that two 
strange figures appeared before him, both 
wearing a smiling countenance. One was 
Charity^ the other, Vanity. 

^' Go," said the first, " and with thy 
gold dry the tears of the unfortunate, 
and rekindle courage in the despair- 
in cr. 

" Go," said the second, " and buy 
smiles and flattering acknowledgments." 

'"' Go clothe the needy, feed the hun- 
gry, and shelter the homeless." 

^' Go and add an extravagant nothmg 
to that drawing-room already filled with 
costly superfluities." 

'' Go, guided by thy angel guardian, 
and be God's messenger to the poor." 

'' Go, guided by the desire to be ad- 
mired, to be appreciated, to be extolled, 
and by the fear of not being considered 
most generous." 

His soul hesitated for some time be- 
tween the two voices, but suddenly mak- 
ing a generous effort, he rose and, guided 
by the first, converted the money des- 
tined for the extravagant gifts into clotH^.s 
and food for the poor. 



122 Btino- Kind. 



<b 






God's poor. Alas, how few think of 
them at Christmas! 

XXXV. 

BEING KIND. 

Oh, how difficult it is to be kind! Not 
merely once, in passing, to one person in 
particular, or when we ourselves are feel- 
ing happy, but constantly, to every one, 
and in everything. 

To give forth kindness always, as the 
flower yields perfume, as the flame yields 
heat, as the sun yields light, again I re- 
peat, how it costs and how difficult it is! 

Who among us has not said in the 
morning: "I will be kind; I will be kmd 
because God desires it; kind because it 
is the only means of doing good to others, 
and to do good is my special mission; 
and because it is the only means of being 
truly happy" ? 

And strengthened and refreshed by 
these thoughts, with a smile on our lips, 
and a joyful heart, we have entered upon 
our day, which opened before us like a 
flower-bordered path of a beautiful gar- 
den, and looking about us we have asked 
ourselves: ^' To whom can I be kind to- 
day? " 



Being Kind, 123 

Poor little rivulet, leaving thy source so 
limpid and peaceful, softly kissing the 
flowers on thy banks, who tells thee: 
** Thy course will be tranquil, the sun will 
sparkle in thy breast, the fishes will sport 
in thy limpid depths, and the flowers VviU 
be reflected, clear and beautiful, i.. .hy 
crystal bosom"? — Behold, a sti^K-r .-r^ > 
pelled by the careless foot of a passer- ny 
has suddenly arrested thy course, and to 
overcome this obstacle thou must needs 
sacrifice thy peaceful flow; behold, a little 
creature burrowing m thy sandy bed has 
disturbed thy limpid depths! 

The obstacle which suddenly disturbs 
our peace and arrests the fervor of our 
heart may be an unexpected disappoint- 
ment which comes upon us with painful 
surprise, a disdainful or indifferent ex- 
pression which we believe we discover in 
the countenance of a friend, a teacher, or 
a companion engaged in the same work 
with us; it may be a material difiiculty 
which we had not foreseen. And the 
kind word, which we believed so easy, is 
arrested on our lips, and the service we 
would have rendered, and which seemed 
so easy and so pleasant, is now impossible 
to our paralyzed energies. 



124 Being Ki?2d. 

We can no longer see our way, we can 
do nothing, our good will has vanished, 
we reply ill-humoredly, we meet our com- 
panions coldly; in a word, we cease to be 
kind. 

But what we have to do is to beein 
over again. Happy he who every morn- 
ing resolutely begins anew to be 
kind ! 

^•We should make ourselves loved by 
all," says Malebranche, "■ that there may 
be no one to whom we mav not be use- 
ful " 

Now, if we would be loved, we must be 
amiable; and how many hearts otherwise 
kind and loving are slow in making them- 
selves loved, and sometimes never suc- 
ceed in winning affection! 

It is because of some unamiable pecu- 
liarity which is visible in their manner, 
their tone, their countenance, a peculiar- 
ity which is hardly perceptible, yet repels 
people in an inexplicable way. 

A cold manner, for example, is reflected 
in the countenance and leaves inefface- 
able marks. 

Would you know an infallible secret 
for winning others and making them in- 
dulgent even to your faults? 



Sacrifices made for God. 125 

Acquire these three semi-virtues, semi- 
beauties, semi-graces: — 

A pleasant manner. 

Kind thoughtfulness. 

A desire to be agreeable (not to be 
admired). 

Cultivate them in everything: in your 
bearing, your manner, your tone; more 
than this, in your mind, your heart, your 
glance, your voice, your countenance. 

Let them be your constant adornment, 
and you will always be amiable; and if 
you are amiable you will find those about 
you ready to excuse and pardon your 
faults, ready to give you affection. 

And if this desire to be amiable and to 
be loved is fed by the desire to imitate 
Jesus, the most loving of me7t, Jesus will 
use you as an instrument to win souls to 
Him. 

XXXVI. 

SACRIFICES MADE FOR GOD. 

Oh! if I had known! we frequently 
exclaim after a fruitless sacrifice for a 
loved one. Oh! if I had known ! — and 
what an aching heart, what bitterness 
and discouragement the words reveal! 



126 Fidelity, 

Poor, unhappy, disappointed soul! these 
bitter words will never rise to your lips 
after a sacrifice made for God. 

XXXVII. 

FIDELITY. 

There may be among those who will 
read this little page to day a tender soul 
prevented by one single fault, one too 
natural and too tender affection, from 
being chosen by God for a work on which 
the salvation of a soul largely depends. 

Go, fear-inspiring thought which I am 
now writing; go, impart to this soul thy 
light, thy remorse, above all, thy strength! 

XXXVIII. 

CHRISTIAN MOTHERS, courage! 

Christian mothers, there are two things 
which most of you lack, the consciousness 
of the divine stre7igth which maternity itnparts 
to you^ and the courage to go to the 
very end when there is question of the 
salvation of your children's souls. Oh, if 
you knew the power of these two things! 
God, Who has lent you His creative 
power, has also lent you His saving pow- 
er, and alas for you if you do not use it! 



Christian Mothers, Courage! 127. 

No doubt many children are lost des- 
pite their mother's tears and virtues, but 
how many more are lost through the 
mother's lack of that energetic will to 
protect or to wrest them from evil! 

Mothers, Christian mothers, say to 
'yourselves, while the soul of your little 
one is opening before you as a flower be- 
fore the sun, say to yourselves: I must 
sow, plant, graft in this soul forever the 
love and fear of God. 

I must make this soul good, pure, noble, 
generous; my own soul, my soul as a 
Christian, must pass into this soul! 

And let your words be full of God, let 
your actions be full of God, let your child 
ever find you in a measure surrounded 
by God. 

Then rest assured he will be good, he 
will be pure, he will be generous. 

But evil passions, this corrupt age, 
those perils without number which a 
mother can neither foresee nor exorcise! 

Perils which a. mother cannot foresee 
— yes, there are such; but perils which 
a mother cannot exorcise — they do not 
exist. For if a Christian mother has not 
always been able to sow virtues, she has 
been able to sow at least seeds fitted to 



i 



128 Christian Mother's, Courage! 

\ 

awaken remorse after sin, and remorse 
will bring back those whom virtue has 
not protected. 

Ah! should a child fall into evil 
courses, the day that you will to rescue 
him, Christian mothers, he shall be saved 
from the abyss and shall be born again 
to virtue. 

The day that I shall imll it! 

Yes! that you will it with the energy of 
one who feels himself gliding down the 
precipice and clings with all his strength 
to everything w^ithin his reach! Will it 
with the fierce enthusiasm of the soldier 
who, regardless of his bleeding wounds, 
rises to the assault to reconquer the flag 
of his country! Will it not an hour, not a 
day, but all your life! 

We repeated these words to a poor 
mother all disheartened; she had tried 
everything, she said; there was noth- 
ing more to be done, the outlook was 
hopeless. 

She rose and said: "And if I will it 
with all the energy of my soul, I shall win 
back my child?" 

Yes, yes, in God's name I assure you 
of this. 

''Then I will it," she said, her face as 



I 



A Christian Home, 129' 

if illuminated and her hands extended to- 
wards the crucifix, ^' yes, I will it! My 
child shall be saved!" 

To mothers with this energy and this 
faith God owes miracles. 

XXXIX. 

A CHRISTIAN HOME. 

This page, which completes the one 
you have just read, is also for you, moth- 
ers. 

It is a picture of a family circle softly 
illuminated by the piety of a Christian 
mother. One feels, as he contemplates it, 
that calm, peaceful, almost divine impres- 
sion experienced on entermg a church. 
The pages are from Lamartine. O poet, 
how many other pages they pardon you! 

'' Our mother was pious. . . . This piety 
was that portion of herself which she de- 
sired most to impart to us. To make us 
children of God in spirit and in truth was 
her most maternal thought. In this, also, 
she succeeded without system and with- 
out effort, and with that marvellous nat- 
ural skill which no artifice can equal. 
Her piety, which animated her every 
breath, her every act, her every gesture, 
enveloped us so to speak in an atmosphere 



13° J Christian Home. 

of heaven here below. We believed that 
God was behind her, and that we should 
hear Him and see Him as she herself 
seemed to hear and see and converse with 
Him at each event of the day. God was 
as one of us. He was born in us with 
our earliest and most indefinable impres- 
sions We could not recall a time when 
we did not know Him, or a first day 
when we were told of Him. We had 
always beheld Him a Third with our 
mother and ourselves. His name was on 
our hps with our mother's milk; it was 
one of the first our infant lips were taught 

Z^f^- u ' ^^ ^'^^ "P' the acts which 
render Hini present and even sensible 
to the soul were accomplished twenty 
times a day before our eves. Morning 
and evening before and after each meal 
Tve were taught to offer short pravers' 
Our mother s knee was long our fam'iliar 
a tar. Her bright face was always veiled 
at such times with a respectful and some- 
1^ .tT"" ^«^o"ection, which impressed 
us with the gravity of the act. When she 
prayed with us and over us, her beautiful 
face assumed a softer and tenderer ex- 
pression. 



Go to Jesus, 131 

XL. 

GO TO JESUS. 

Jesus is the Truth, Jesus is the Way, Jesus 
is the Life, 

I. 

You who seek light, light which will 
illumine the chaos about you, light which 
will bear fruit; laborers in the region of 
thought, unable to give expression to the 
thoughts which throng and press one an- 
other in your brain — unable to give them 
forth as you conceive them, strikingly, 
convincingly, and fitted to rouse souls, 
go to Jesus at the foot of the altar, and 
there with simple faith bask calmly and 
peacefully in the divine rays which, in- 
visible to the senses, but sensible to the 
soul, radiate from the sacred body of 
Jesus. 

This is not a theoretical counsel, and 
we beg you to test it. Perhaps during the 
first quarter of an hour in the presence 
of Jesus, or during the first day of the 
exposition, you may not feel His influ- 
ence, but persevere a few days. Is it 
such a difficult experiment? 

Have you ever watched the action of 



132 Go fO JtSUS. 

the sun's rays on a flower still firmly en-- 
veloped, and painfully, so to speak, en-Jl 
closed as by prison walls in the outer 
covering, which later is to form its calyx?. 
The rays impart a gentle warmth, whichfl 
softens and relaxes'the covering; it grad- 
ually expands and falls away, and the 
flower comes forth exhaling its exquisite 
fragrance. 

There are flowers in your intelligence, 
fitted to impart sweet fragrance to souls; 
go to Jesus, Who will cause them to break 
forth, unless you wish them to blosso 
for others rather than for Him. 

'' What I have learned,'' said a saint 
** I have learned at the foot of my cruci-} 
fix." The foot of the aitar is a better 
school. On the cross there is only the 
image of the Master, on the altar there is 
the reality, the Master, yesus Himself. 

II. 

Troubled, anxious soul, needing direc-i 
tion, looking vainly about you, too timidf 
or unwilling to seek counsel, through 
fear of not being understood or not 
heeded, poor soul feeling yourself in the 
midst of circumstances which seem to 
encompass you like an iron circle gradu- 



ik 



Go to Jtsiii 133 

ally narrowing and stifling your forcesf 
Perhaps it is a matter on which your 
temporal future depends, and particu- 
larly the future of your loved ones — a 
calumny adroitly fabricated, under the 
weight of which you feel yourself crushed 
— a religious vocation thwarted by obsta- 
cles humanly insurmountable— an im- 
pending humiliation which threatens to 
blight your life. 

Whatever it may be, go you also to 
Jesus on the altar! And, holding your 
soul in your hands, so to speak, present it 
to Jesus as you would present a suffering 
little one to the physician, and say to 
Him: Master, what do you wish it to do? 
and wait confidently in peaceful silence. 

If the day goes by without bringing^ 
you light, return to-morrow, and to-mor- 
row again! 

O Jesus, Thou wilt not abandon this 
soul which asks to see; Thou wilt not 
refuse it light! Thou wilt send it to a 
priest whom it has not thought of seek- 
ing, or perhaps Thou wilt simply send 
it, more humble, more confident, more res- 
olute, to the same priest whom it has al- 
ready consulted in vain, and who, lack- 
ing light, could not help it, but now 



134 Go to Jesus, 

light will be given him and he will speak. 

And you, poor troubled soul! will be the 
unconscious bearer of this light which 
you will have insensibly received from 
Jesus, and which Jesus wills that you 
should impart to your guide, even as He 
willed Paul to be enlightened through 
Ananias. 

Then, how joyfully you will cry: I 
see! 

Jesus, this is ever Thy way. 

What soul has ever asked Jesus for 
light in the guidance of its life and has 
not received it? 

III. 

And vou who lack life, the life of the 
heart and the life of the soul; you who, 
perhaps in consequence of your voluntary 
negligences and your repeated infideli- 
ties, render yourself every day more un- 
faithful and more culpable; you, no 
longer capable of loving, that is, of being 
devoted; no longer capable of living, that 
is, of acting, not merely existing, and who 
continue thus, experiencing at intervals 
the semblance of good will^ but always 
fallmg back and even wishing sometimes 
you could never rise again! 



Go to jfesus. 135 

You who nevertheless loved God for- 
merly, and whose heart still quickens at 
the memory of those days filled with af- 
fection, peace, fidelity, and accomplished 
duties; you who have just heard your 
good angel whisper, ^' Wouldst thou re- 
turn to God?" and who answered sadly^ 
" I would, I would, but I cannot! " 

Go to Jesus on the altar. 

Are you more loathsome in the eyes of 
Jesus than the leper cast out from human 
society, who cried: ''Lord, if Thou wilt, 
Thou canst make me clean " ? 

Are you more dead than the youth of 
Naim followed by his weeping mother to 
the tomb? 

Are you in a state of greater corrup- 
tion than Lazarus, of whom his sister said, 
" he stinketh " ? 

Oh, were you all this, Jesus on the al- 
tar is the same Who said to the leper: " I 
will, be thou made clean; '^ the same Who 
restored the youth of Naim in full life to 
his mother; the same Who bade Lazarus 
come forth from the tomb. 

Jesus is the same Who wept at the 
news of the death of Lazarus; the same 
Who embraced Judas, and you have not 
fallen lower than Judas — there is no fall- 



I -^6 God sees It. — God 'cinlls It, 



o 



ing lower than Judas; but yon, you will 
not, like Judas, be insensible to the kiss of 
Jesus? 

Then go to Him; He is the way; He is 
the truth; He is the life, 

XLI. 

GOD SEES IT.— GOD WILLS IT. 

What divine things these words con- 
tain and impart when they are gently 
and piously uttered! 

Peace, courage, light, strength, they 
give all these, as the fruit when pressed 
yields its nourishing juice, as the flower 
yields its perfume, as the instrument 
yields its harmony. 

God sees it^ God zviJls it, words fallen 
fro:;i heaven to guide and uphold me! 
To you may the graceful image of the 
oriental poet be truly applied, '' A word 
is a vase of perfumed essence; when ut- 
tered, it exhales its sweet fragrance and 
embalms the soul." 

I. 

God sees it. 
God's glance hovers above me; it en- 
virons me, penetrates me, and forms in a 
measure an essential part of my whole 



God sees It. — Gcd wills IL 137 

being; and never can I withdraw for one 
moment from His all-seeing glance. 

It is the glance of a father, a kindly, an 
affectionate, a searching glance. He sees 
in all their details the needs of my soul, 
of my body, of my heart, and tenderly 
and affectionately provides for them all 
in that wise measure which furnishes all 
that is needful, and at the hour needed. 

He sees the suffering I endure, and per- 
mits it to reach me only as a divine rem- 
edy prepared by His fatherly hand. No, 
never will this suffering be too poignant 
or too prolonged. His glance rests upon 
it; He watches the effect of the remedy, 
and the progress of the evil. 

He sees the evil designs of my enemies; 
He follows their unfriendly projects; He 
understands the words that are spoken, 
and I know He will be ever present to 
meet the effects of their malice to the 
needs of my soul. 

He sees the kindly inte7itions of my 
friends; and He smiles upon all who love 
me, and upon their kindly efforts in my 
behalf. And this is a consoling thought 
to me, for I cannot know all their kind- 
ness, nor, alas! can I always express tb'* 
gratitude which fills my heart. 



I ;^S God sees //. — God wills It. 

He sees my desire to be more pious, 
more faithful, more devoted, more loving; 
my daily efforts, my falls, my weaknesses; 
and His glance is ever that of a kind 
father who rewards even a desire, and 
has never a reproach for a fault of which 
we repent. 

n. 

It is the glance of a judge who doubt- 
less never ceases to be a father, but who 
is holy, who is pure, who is just, and who 
owes it to His perfections to punish all 
that is evil, and to reward all that is 
good. 

He sees my struggles against physical 
weariness when a duty is to be accom- 
plished, my struggles against my natural 
character, against my passions, against 
all evil inclinations. 

He sees in the hidden recesses of my 
heart the little deceptions 1 sometimes 
resort to to obtain what I ask, the unavow- 
able wiles with which I endeavor to so- 
licit praise, the disingenuous means which 
I resort to in order to satisfy my sensual- 
ity; the disingenuous reasons with which 
I secretly justify an insincere act. 

Ah! all these things probably van- 



God sees It. — God wills It. 139 

ished from my recollection ten, twenty 
years ago, but they are fresh and clear ia 
the memory of God. 

III. 

God wills it. 

Hence it is all for my good: this phys- 
ical weariness, the abandonment in which 
I am left, the calumny which mars my 
reputation, the ingratitude which rends 
my heart, the poverty which constrains 
me, death which tears my loved ones 
from me, the failure which destroys my 
dreams of glory and devotion. 

O salutary God-sent wind of adversity, 
sweep over my heart, my gifts of mind, 
my worldly possessions, and when Thou 
hast passed, purer and more brilliant than 
ever will shine the light, the riches, the 
goodness of God. 

God wills it! Hence all is possible! — 
possible this separation, this renuncia- 
tion, this labor, this act of humility, the 
thought of which alone makes me tremble. 

What God wills can always be done. 
God^s command is always accompanied 
with the grace to fulfil it; and for a 
Christian to associate the word impossible 



God sees It, — God wills It, 

with a divine command is an insult 
blasphemy. A Christian owes it to hi 
faith to make an earnest effort. 

God 7uills it! Hence it is all meritorious. 
This duty performed in obscurity, unob- 
served by all, this work despised by all 
because it has no human value, and ap- 
parently redounds to no one's credit, and 
this inaction willed by God, which ren- 
ders me materially useless, and brings 
humiliations upon me. 

God wills it! It was the cry of the 
crusaders. A crusader was a pilgrim 
setting forth to the conquest of the Holy 
Land, a pilgrim and a soldier. Are we 
not pilgrims and soldiers? 

God wills it! Answer with this cry every 
command issued by God or the Pope, 
His vicegerent on earth. We must pray, 
we must work, we must deny, we must re- 
nounce ourselves, we must suffer, we 
must die; God has said it, God imlls it. 
And if in the battle our courage falters, 
let us reanimate our souls with the calm 
but no less forcible words: God sees it! 






Pious Desires of a Christian Soul, 141 
XLII, 

PIOUS DESIRES OF A CHRISTIAN SOUL.- 
I. 

I NEVER ask God to let me be unat- 
tractive, for it seems to me I should be 
voluntarily repelling souls to whom I 
might do good, but I ask Him not to let 
me be too pleasing, lest others should 
give me, rather than God, the first place 
in their affection. 

The thought of robbing God, even for 
an hour, of the affection of a soul which 
He loves and by whom He is loved is 
most painful to me. Is it not a theft, a 
sinful perversion? 

Therefore, my God, I ask Thee with 
all the sincerity of my soul, grant me the 
grace never to do anything expressly to 
please! 

II. 
I woula uc loved, I need affection, 
need to know and feel that I am loved, 
yet I would not have it too evident. No, 
my (jod. Thou seest that if I knew others 
loved me as I feel I love, I might forsake 
Thee. Therefore on my knees I pray 
Thee, lest my heart become too deeply 



142 The InJIuence of the Holy Eucharist, 

attached, permit me to suffer sometimes 
througii those I love, but let them not 
know the pain they inflict upon me, let 
them not offend Thee thereby, and above 
all, let me not be so weak as to reveal it! 

XLIIL 

THE IXFLUENXE OF THE HOLY EUCHARIST. 

A MISSION was going on in the parish 
church; in a neighboring tavern four men 
vowed not to enter the church, and to 
prevent as many as they could from at- 
tending the instructions. 

The wife of one of them, a pious 
Christian, suspected some adverse influ- 
ence. One evening at the supper-table 
she made an indifferent remark about the 
preacher and the number of men who 
attended the sermons. Her husband 
laughed, and said: ''Oh! there will not be 
so many at the end of the mission." In 
answer his wife urged him to tell her the 
reason for the surmise, and gradually drew 
from him the story of what took place in 
the tavern. 

She concealed the pain it gave her, and 
the next morning confided her anxietv to 
the preacher of the mission. 



The Influence of the Holy Eucharist, 143 

*^ Have you children? " he asked. 

*' Yes, one still in the cradle." 

*' Is your husband fond of it? " 

'' Very." 

^' Does he take it in his arms some- 
times ? " 

^' Yes." 

^'Well, this evening after the sermon, 
when the church is deserted, bring your 
child and lay it on the altar before the 
tabernacle, and kneeling, say with all the 
affection of your heart: My Jesus ^ hUve 
iuercy on my husband; then, when you re- 
turn home, leave the little one that has 
touched the tabernacle in its father's 
arms for a few moments." 

The good woman followed his instruc- 
tions, and on her return finds her husband 
sitting alone in the fire-light. 

'' Where have you been ? " he asks. 
Without making any answer, she says 
simply: ^^ Take the little one while I set 
the table," and places the baby in his 
arms. He caresses it, rocks it gently in 
his arms, smiling softly upon it. The even- 
ing meal passed more calmly than usual. 

The next day the same scene was re- 
peated; it was all so simple and natural, 
only the father remarked, '' Isn't he a fine 



144 The Influence of the Holy Eu.harist. 

little fellow?" '^ He is an angel," the 
wife replied, ^^an innocent angel. Ah I 
what it is to be innocent!" And she 
noticed that he pressed the child affec- 
tionately to his breast. Grace seemed to 
be doing its work. 

At table they spoke of the preacher. 
She remarked that there were a great 
many men at the sermons. "Ah!" he 
simply replied. 

The third dav the father receives the 
little one all impregnated, so to speak, 
with the Eucharist, and without any ap- 
parent reason weeps as he embraces him. 
The mother, who is busy preparing the 
table, covertly watches him, while tears of 
joy moisten her own cheeks as she softly 
murmurs, "' My Jesus^ mercy,'' 

The next day he quietly attended the 
sermon without the knowledge of his wife. 
There was a crowd about the confession- 
als, so she was not able to place the child 
as usual upon the altar. She returned 
home and was astonished not to find her 
husband waiting for her. In a few mo- 
ments, however, the door opened, and 
the father entered, and clasping his wife 
and child in one embrace, said, weeping 
with joy: " I have come from confession!" 



An Inferior. 145 

XLIV. 

AN INTERIOR. 

This does not mean only our own little 
room, that sweet and peaceful sanctuary 
in which, surrounded by the thought of 
the All-seeing God as by a luminous 
atmosphere, we labor, we pray, and 
take our rest, — it means here a more in- 
timate sanctuary, ^^/r ^<y^/. And this is 
truly a sanctuary which God has reserved 
to Himself, and He expects us to guard 
and adorn this portion of ourselves, which 
is so dear to Him. 



We would not have in our room aught 
upon which our eye could not rest un- 
disturbed; all these objects about us we 
have chosen only for ourselves. This 
furniture, this statue, these engravings, 
these books, these flowers, — we chose 
them because the37- pleased us; we placed 
them here rather than elsewhere because 
they suited us better here. He is very 
foolish who adorns his room to suit the 
taste of visitors. It is well enough in a 
parlor, which is a more or less public 



146 An Inferior . 

apartment; but one's own room is that 
little nook reserved to ourselves, where 
none but intimate friends enter, and these 
but rarely; that treasure chamber where 
our precious souvenirs have slowly ac- 
cumulated, and where we would be free 
to work, to rest, to weep at times. 

Why do we not take the same pains for 
the adornment of our soul that we do for 
our room? 

Why not aspire to a time when our 
eyes may survey this intimate sanctuary 
with the same pleasure and happiness? 

He * 

Let us not expend too much in exterior 
adornment, let us not devote all our en- 
ergies to exterior actions, however good 
and useful. These actions are seen^ hence 
they may be stolen from us. Alas! most 
of them are, and those that v\^e do retain, 
how faded and tarnished and diminished 
they are after a time! And how little of 
their freshness remains when the moment 
comes to offer them to God! 

Let us expend some of our riches in 
interior adornment, let us do some good 



An Inferior. 147 

actions secretly, merely for the sake of 
having done them, and place them in 
this hidden sanctuary, the soul; for ex- 
ample, a secret alms; a kind action, the 
credit of which will be given to another; a 
pious page, read solely for spiritual ad- 
vancement, a fervent prayer, offered kneel- 
ing, with loving respect and submission. 
All these things are ornaments for the soul, 
pictures which beautify it, flowers which 
fill it with balmy fragrance, and make it 
a charming abode, to which we resort 
with pleasure and are thus enabled to 
lead a life of recollection. 

And when God visits us in this sanc- 
tuary always open to Him, He sees these 
alms, these readings, these actions, upon 
which no human glance lias ever rested, 
and He loves and blesses them, and will- 
ingly remains with ur. 

What a sweet and peaceful happiness 
there is in laboring for the adornment of 
our soul with no other thought than to 
make it pleasing in God's eyes! 

I have seen mothers devote themselves 
for months to the furnishing and adorn- 
ment of a daughter's room; and into this 
room full of freshness, grace, and inno- 
cence no one was allowed to enter; they 



148 An Inter io7\ 

deemed that a profane presence robbed 
it of something. 

O my God, I also would make my 
soul a sanctuary, a beautiful sanctuary 
for Thee only! 

Inspire me, then, my God, Avith the 
thought, and give me each day the means 
of beautifying this sanctuary reserved 
only for Thee and mel 

What matters it that others know what 
I do — look with a jealous eye on the 
beauty of my works, scrutinize my inti- 
mate joys, and give me their hypocritical 
applause? I shall have an intimate sanc- 
tuary, where I can be alone for a few mo- 
ments each day, where, far from the noise 
and bustle about me, in the chapel or in 
my room, with my senses recollected and 
my heart gently resting upon God, I can 
pray, meditate, labor, stud}-, and thus 
soothe, enlighten, and strengthen my 
soul. 

In this sanctuary, again, I can learn lit- 
tle by little to love the hidden life, to oc- 
cupy the thoughts of others less, to fade 
softly, like a shadow, from human obser- 
vation, to make God the habitual com^" 
panion of my life, the beloved Host of niy 
soul. O the sweetness of such lessons! 



A Lesson of Philosophy. 149 

The quarter of an hour devoted to this 
wholly interior work soon becomes the 
most delightful quarter of an hour in the 
day. 

XLV. 

A LESSON OF PHILOSOPHY. 
IV. 

The Alphabet. 

We write with a smile the following- 
lines, — a quaint conceit of the alphabet,— 
with a smile, also, should they be read, 
A counsel given with a smile and re- 
ceived with a smile will not bear any 
less fruit. 

Little Primer of my childhood, alpha- 
bet of my early years, the great letters of 
which I see through the long vista of 
years which stretch behind me like the 
winding avenue of venerable trees at 
the end of which the homestead is dimly 
visible; — alphabet of my early years, 
whose monotonous chant I still hear, 
have you nothing to impart to my white 
hairs? 

How was it that yesterday, finding a 
few torn, yellow leaves of this alphabet, a 
sudden light came to me, and my ear was 



150 A Lesson of Philosophy, 

struck with the suggestive consonance of 
certain letters? 

Was it a fairy ? Was it the merry 
sprite of my childhood that whispered: 
'' Read^ listen^ ajid profit ! — As a child the 
alphabet conveyed to thee only sounds; 
now, in thy later years, it can give thee 
wisest counsels for making thy life happy, 
useful, and meritorious." 

Things to be Avoided in Life. 

The incessant round of idle pleasures, 
which makes life so M. T. 

That undisciplined, immortified spirit, 
which carries every thing to X. S. 

Fixing our hearts upon aught that can 
know D. K. 

Looking upon the possessions of others 
with N. V. 

That pride which assumes the airs of 
a small D. E. T. 

Exulting over a fallen N. M. E. 

Shirking all the difficult duties of our 
state and fulfilHne onlv those that are 



'fe 



E. Z. 

A haughty, repellent manner, which may 
be alphabetically described as 1. C. 

That affected and labored style which 
converts a friendly letter into an S. A. 



Forgotten Ones, 151 

Encumbering our souls with faults 
which we shall, either here or in purga- 
tory, be required to X. P. 8. 

That pride which leads us to refuse a 
work in which we are not sure we shall 
X. L. 

That porcupine susceptibility which is 
i'-Htated at O. 

XLVI. 

FORGOTTEN ONES. 

Alas! they are numerous, very numer- 
ous, those unhappy ones whose memory 
has gradually faded from the hearts of 
others, and who, far from those who loved 
them, are passing away without venturing 
to utter a plamt. 

Forgotten ones I Yes, they are numer- 
ous, and were their sad faces to appear 
before us at this moment, we should be 
appalled at their number, and their mourn- 
ful reproach, Why have you forsaken us ? 
would rend our hearts with remorse. 

Let us not speak of the dead, — they 
are the happiest. If they are with God 
they cannot suifer by our forgetfulness; 
if they have not yet attained the peace of 
the just, the Church, that mother who 
never forgets, gives them each day words 



1^2 Forgotten Ones, 



i> 



of comfort and hope. Let us speak of 
those who still live, near ns perhaps, but 
far, very far, from our hearts. 

Poor forgotten ones! You who loved 
so fervently, and in whose hearts this love 
still lives, how keenly you must feel this 
neglect and abandonment! 

Forgotten, that friend of our infancy 
and youth, whom we so frequently, par- 
ticularly at the hour of parting, vowed 
with tears never to forget! He departed, 
and we remained, and other friendships 
more brilliant, more absorbing, effaced 
that fresh, pure affection of fifteen, and 
when he wrote us, his letter remained 
unanswered. Here was ihoughtless?iess. 

Forgotten, that friend fallen through 
poverty from the position he held, and 
whom we have avoided because of 
the poverty of his dress, because of his 
humble dwelling in an obscure street, 
because of the humble employment he 
is constranied to accept for his own 
support and that of his family. — Here is 
pride. 

Forgotten, that poor sufferer confined 
by tedious paralysis or age to his room, 
whom we visited assiduously the first 
months, but whom we have gradually 



Forgotten Ones. 153 

forgotten, carried away by other interests. 
— Here is indifftrence. 

Forgotten, that friend humbled by a 
fault, or separated by disgrace from the 
circle in which he lived appreciated, and 
who no longer dares to approach us in 
the absence of any kindly token of wel- 
come from us. — Here is cowardice. 

Forgotten, that benefactor and that 
master who shared his heart, his soul, his 
fortune with us, who made us what we 
are, and from whom we have gradually 
withdrawn because his counsels hampered 
our liberty. — Here is ingratitude. 

Oh! what terrible expiation God must 
require of forgetful, neglectful hearts. 



O youthful souls, to whom our words 
are specially addressed, beg God to pre- 
serve you from this neglect and forget- 
fulness! You can not know the suffer- 
ing of isolation and abandonment, the 
bitter suffering of one who says, I loved, 
I spent, and exhausted myself for others, 
and now they abandon me. 

Youthful souls, filled with devotion and 
tenderness, let me give you in the name of 
Jesus the mission to covi\iox\, forgotten ones. 



154 Forgotieji Ones. 

Is there not about you a sufferer, an 
aged or afflicted one, whom no one visits, 
and who, silently weeping, waits the hour 
of deliverance? 

Is there not about you one who is 
disheartened, disgraced, or even guilty, 
whom every one avoids, and whose head 
is bowed with humiliation? 

Go sometimes to visit such sufferers, 
to say an affectionate word to them, to 
give them a friendly pressure of the hand; 
give them at least a smile when you meet 
them. There is nothing attractive, noth- 
ing glorious, nothing gratifying to the 
senses in this mission; it will be an ob- 
scure one, if it is not unappreciated and 
even criticised on earth; but your angel 
guardian will count all your steps; and 
in heaven God will number in your 
crown every moment that you spent in it. 

And you, dear forgotten ones, if God 
has created a void about you, it is that 
He may draw nearer to you. 

This void is a calm, peaceful halt 
which He has procured for you before 
entering the great rest. Do not mar it 
by murmurs and complaints. Jesus has 
said to you as He did to His apostles: 
" Come apart into a desert place and rest 
a little," and He is with you. 



A Lost Day. 155 

And there is One more forsaken, more 
neglected, more abandoned than you, 
One who knows and appreciates all your 
sufferings — Jesus in the Eiuharist. 

Visit Him, forgotten ones, offer Him 
consolation, and be consoled in return. 

Visiting one day a poor sufferer unable 
to leave the easy chair in which she was 
laid each morning, we spoke of her isola- 
tion. " Oh, I am not as lonely as you im- 
agine," she answered, holding up her ro- 
sary. "' The beads of my rosary are so 
many steps of the ladder by which I as- 
cend to God and He descends to me; we 
alwa3^s meet half way, and one never 
grows weary with God! '' 

Alas! for the poor forgotten one who 
does not turn to God; his sufferings are 
bitter indeed. 

XLVII. 

A LOST DAY. 

One morning an eccentric millionaire 
in New York called one of his employes 
and said to him: "There is half a mil- 
lion of dollars in single bills on the table 
here; if you can count them in twenty- 
four hours, the fortune is yours. Look, 
the clock is striking six, begin," and he 
left him, saying " Until to-morrow! " 



156 A Lost Day. 

The employe, dazed for a moment, gaz- 
es upon the mass of banknotes before him, 
then, seating himself, begins with feverish 
haste to count them and sort them in 
packages. ^' It is a terrible task," he tells 
himself, *^ but this fortune will be mine! " 

Hour after hour goes by, and he is still 
counting, his head bowed over the table, 
his body motionless, only his hands mov- 
ing with the monotonous regularity of a 
machine. 

Twelve o'clock strikes, but the claims 
of hunger are disregarded, the monoton- 
ous numbers are repeated. The sun sets, 
he is still counting. 

Night is falling, the streets are grow- 
ing silent and deserted, silence fills the 
empty house, another employe places a 
lamp on the table and a glass of wine, 
but he sees nothing, hears nothing, but 
breathlessly continues his work. 

Midnight strikes, and sleep would fain 
soothe the weary brain and heavy lids, 
but her ministrations are rudely rejected. 

His nerves twitch rebelliously, the mus- 
cles of his hand swell, his eyes grow dim, 
and the lamplight pales in the breaking 
dawn, but he sees nothing, hears nothing, 
and counts, counts. 



I 



A Lost Day, i^y 

His master stands before him, looking 
upon him with an air of compassion, and 
suddenly places his hands over his, say- 
ing, '' Stop! six o'clock is striking." 

The unhappy man has not completed 
half his task. He turns two large, sight- 
less eyes upon his employer, and falls 
from his chair — dead. 

Poor, deluded victim! 

He let himself be dazzled, intoxicated, 
fascinated with the sight of gold, and, 
with no other guide but passion, devoted 
body, soul, intelligence, will, to the mad, 
impossible task; and instead of what he 
sought he finds disappointment, despair, 
death! ^ f ; 

And what would have saved him all 
these hours of anguish and that sad and 
terrible end? A moment's reflection, in 
which he could have asked himself. Is the 
task possible? 

Ah! there are times in life when pas- 
sion, like a wild beast, springs upon its 
victim, forcing him on and giving him no 
time to ask: Is this just? Is it seemly? 
Is it lawful? 

A moment's reflection before every im- 
portant action is a small thing, yet some- 
times it is everything. What tears and 



158 Father Lacordaire's Definitio7i of Gold. 

regrets we might have spared ourselves 
in life by a moment of calm reflection! 

A sign of the cross before beginning a 
work is quickly made, yet in this scarcely 
appreciable space of time light comes, 
the interest of the present moment van- 
ishes, the end presents itself. How fre- 
quently, after this brief appeal to God, 
we cease to desire what we longed to 
accomplish! We close forever the book 
we were about to read, we give up the 
visit, the journey, which had no other 
end but to gratify vanity or sensuality. 
Why? We cannot say. It seems as 
though God exorcised the fatal fasci- 
nation of the evil one. We resume our 
peaceful, industrious life, and neither the 
day nor heaven is lost, 

XLVIII. 

FR. LACORDAIRE'S DEFINITION OF GOLD. 

Gold, Fr. Lacordaire tells us, is one of 
the best and one of the worst, one of the 
most divine and one of the most diabolic 
things in the world. 

Gold is one of the bitterest possessions 
when we are sordidly attached to it; one 
of the sweetest, when we give it through 
generosity and love for God. 



Give the Heart its Portion each Day. 159 

You should tremble whenever you look 
upon a goldpiece. You should tremble 
particularly to possess it, for you have 
before you good or evil, an angel or a 
devil. 

According as you hoard it without 
necessity or give it to the poor, you bring 
from your purse hell or heaven. 

XLIX. 

GIVE THE HEART ITS PORTION EACH 
DAY. 



TfiiL iieart has its life, and this life 
needs food to sustain it. If you do not 
give it peacefully in just measure its 
daily portion, it experiences the torture 
and the anguish of the lungs deprived of 
air, of the stomach denied food, and in 
its need it seeks and accepts food wher- 
ever it finds it. 

Affection is the food of the heart, 
affection received, but particularly affec- 
tion given. 

Now, affection is not that sentiment 
which makes us experience emotions 
more or less sweet or powerful at the 
thought of one who pleases us. This 



i6o Give ihe Heart its Portion each Day, 

sentiment is at most but the indication 
of the need to love, and this is why, 
when we confine ourselves to seeking- 
emotions, we no doubt experience pleas- 
ure at first, but a pleasure which gradu- 
ally changes to weariness, then to satiety, 
then to anxiety, then to remorse. 

The heart is neither contented nor sat- 
isfied, it is only amused. 

Affection is the outpouring, in acts 
more than in words, of that goodness 
which *^ God," according to the expression 
of Bossuet, ^' placed in the breast of man 
when He created him, and which forms, 
so to speak, the basis of his nature." 

The affection which does not find ex- 
pression in benevolence or kindness is 
only egotism. 

II. 

It is the nature of affection to be ever 
ready to render service to every one, to 
supply the evident needs of those about 
us, to divine their hidden needs; in a 
word, to remove or alleviate the sufferings 
of others, even at the expense of our 
comfort and repose. 

Affection is composed of little atten- 
tions, delicate kindness, considerate fore- 



Give the Heart its Portion each Day. i6r 

thought; it may be translated by the 
simple ^ ox As giving pleasure. 

Affection is generous; it does not 
share, but gives all it has. It removes 
all the thorns it may from the path of 
others, it lightens all burdens, it softens 
all trials. *^ It carries a burden, and is 
not burdened," says the Imitation; " it 
runs, it flies, and rejoices, and when 
weary is not tired." 

The model of love is Jesus; yes, even 
God, Who needs must love and be loved; 
and it was for this that He became man, 
and that He instituted the Eucharist. 



III. 



Affection thus understood is of all 
times, all ages; it is of all conditions, it 
is within the reach of all. 

It seeks no mystery; it conceals itself 
at times, doubtless, through a motive of 
delicacy or humility, but it never blushes 
to be known. 

It leaves no remorse behind it; its only 
fear is that it may not be sufficiently 
devoted, but it strives each day to devote 
itself more and more, and this is what 
sustains its life. 



1 62 Give the Heart its Portion each Day^ 

IV. 

The heart, like the chest, has two move- 
ments: one through which it receives, 
and another through which it gives. 

To the chest these two movements are 
equally necessary for life, and alternately 
succeed each other. 

To give is particularly essential to the 
happiness of the heart, to receive is in a 
measure only incidental. Loving suffices 
for its happiness; it feels, moreover, that 
in loving it will always be loved, and 
when it is good and pure, it thinks less 
of being loved than of giving its affection. 

No doubt it is very sweet to be loved, 
to be able to feel that another is always 
thinking of us; but the thought of giv- 
ing pleasure, the thought particularly of 
being loved by God, Who causes us to 
hear that ineffable Thank yoii which crea- 
tures refuse us, the hope of heaven, 
where we shall be loved in proportion to 
the measure of our love on earth — all 
this truly suffices for happiness. 

Moreover, we are always happy in do- 
ing good; when we give happiness its 
bright sunshine is reflected in our own 
hearts. 



Give the Heart its Portion each Day. 163 



V. 

To whom should our affectio7i or devo- 
tion be given? These two words express 
but one idea. 

Let us limit our reply to-day and say 
simply that more than all others^ above all 
things, our devotion is due to our family, 
to those beings formed by God of the 
same blood which flows in our veins, or 
chosen by Him to sustain, to guard, and 
to comfort us. Here, in this little circle 
particularly, the heart finds its portion 
every hour, were it only in drying a tear, 
in sparing a little fatigue, in creating a 
happy smile. The heart does not ask its 
portion in great measure, but it must be 
a daily portion, and it is truly a lost day 
which passes without a good or kind 
action. 

You will never be happy as long as you 
know that one of your loved ones is en- 
during a trial that you can lighten. 

Then let your heart expand each day 
with the giving of a kind word, a word of 
comfort, a gift, the most insignificant if 
you will, — but let it give : it is as neces- 
sary for the heart to give as it is for the 
chest to breathe. 



164 Education, 



EDUCATION. 

Large volumes have been written on 
education, and many more will be written 
on this inexhaustible and important sub- 
ject. 

But in all that I have read and analyzed 
I never found anything worth this recipe, 
which I send you, O mothers filled with 
anxiety for the souls of your children: 
Whatever the character of the child whom 
you wish to render good and virtuous — ■ 

Do good before him. 

Do good to him. 

Have good done through hkn. 

LI. 

YES. NO. 

I. 

Yes I 

This is a charming monosyllable, al- 
ways charming, particularly charming on 
the lips of a little child. 

Fts I is the word which the angels un- 
ceasingly repeat in heaven, the word which 
is ever on the lips of the saints here 
below. 



Fes. — No. 165 

Fes / is the word which all creatures 
owe to God Who speaks, to God Who de^ 
sires, to God Who commands, to God 
Who is represented by a creature. Fes^ 
opens heaven. 

Yes / is the word of obedience, the 
word of affection, the word of gratitude. 

Fes/ is a word which sends a joyful 
echo to the heart of the speaker and re- 
sounds with a gracious meaning in the 
ears of the hearer. It is a word filled 
with beauty and charm; it is a gracious, 
love-inspiring word. 

Fes ! awakens a joyful chord in the 
hearts of mothers, and rejoices the heart, 
of God. 

Fes! is a gracious word, which, inter-^ 
preted, means: All Ihat you will ^ I will- 
all that you command^ I will do. 

Yes ! is not a difficult word to utter; it 
flutters lightly from the lips as a breath 
from the heart. 

Yes I is a word which does not need to 
be uttered; it may be interpreted with a 
smile. A smile \'$>yes. 

Oh! let us ask God to give us grace to 
say yes to all that is good, to all that is 
beautiful, to all that is sanctifying, — yes to 
every movement of the heart impelling- 



3 66 Fes. — A^o, 

fus to a sacrifice required by God, to an 
^ct of devotedness, to an effort of the 
will for the accomplishment of a duty, — 
yes to every request, every desire which 
'does not separate us from God. 

II. 

No ! This is the word of the reprobate, 
the word of disobedience and revolt, 
■the word of caprice, the word of obstinacy, 
the word of hatred. No ! is never heard 
in heaven! 

No ! is an ungracious word, uttered by 
the striking of the tongue against thereof 
of the mouth, a motion which suggests 
the passionate stamping of the foot. 

No ! is a word which the lips open wide 
to utter, as if the heart was loath to re- 
tain it. 

No I is a repelling, a hate-inspiring 
word. No ! is the violent separation of 
two wills, the obstacle which renders all 
union impossible; it is the death of friend- 
rship, it is an ever-bleeding wound infiict- 
^ed upon a mother's heart. 

And vet there are times when this m 



Fes. — No. 16 f 

created by the rebellious Angel must be 
uttered with all our strength. 

Happy he who knows how to utter it 
at such moments! 

O youth! entering upon thy career in 
the world, learn to say no to the com-- 
mand of authority, to the pleading of 
friendship, to moving tears, when con- 
science and honor require it. 

Learn to say no to thy heart when it 
would lead thee where God's commands 
are violated, when it would make thee 
forget thy mother's teachings. 

Look about thee at the victims of re- 
morse, at the unhappy creatures despised 
by their fellow men ! What brought them 
to the state of dishonor and misery in 
which you behold them? They had not 
learned to say no. 

This no of the faithful soul, this en- 
ergetic no to creatures who would turn 
thee from duty, is the strongest and most 
loving j^'^j" to God. 

LIL 

DUTY. 

In the world's Great Book we are credit- 
ed with all the intelligence, talent, power, 
and riches we possess. We are ranked as 



1 68 Duty. 

rich in possessions and duly esteemed, ex- 
tolled, and appreciated. In God's Great 
Book all these things are balanced by the 
word, that terrible word, duty. For every 
joy, every light, every honor that was 
ours on earth, God will exact an act of 
virtue. 



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